One Day
by azriona
Summary: A year after her return, Rose and the Doctor have relaxed into an easy camaraderie, but time and an old friend left behind are catching up to them – and will do so all in the course of a single day....Part Two of the Crossroads Series....NO S4 spoilers!
1. Time Passing

_**Warning:**__ None, actually - there are _**no spoilers for Season 4**_ anywhere in this story. It's canon all the way up to the end of Season 3 of New Who ("Last of the Time Lords"). You may read without fear. _

_There are, however, lots of spoilers for Part One of the Crossroads series, _Reflections_. You will want to read that one first._

**Disclaimer:** _Not mine. It's very sad, I agree. If it looks familiar, it's because it's also on LJ and Teaspoon._  
**Chapter Summary:** _Time moves at different rates, which isn't exactly comforting for Rose – and definitely not comforting to the Doctor._

* * *

**Chapter One: Time Passing**

Somewhere orbiting a small, insignificant, unnamed planet in the Delta Cluster, a blue police box spun lazily, not moving in any direction but around. Police boxes don't tend to have emotions, but this one was content. Part of her contentment came from her occupants within; her Doctor and her Rose, who were at that moment sitting on the jump seat in the console room, pressed together and arms at rest as they watched the latest series of photographs from the parallel world. The Tardis stretched languid telepathic limbs out, half-inclined not to look for the danger that surely lurked around the next bend. She wouldn't have wanted to disturb her people inside. Luckily, there was little to be found, and she continued to spin, content to simply be.

The Tardis knew such small moments were not guaranteed, just as she knew they might not come again. She continued to spin, and waited.

* * *

"It's funny, isn't it," said Rose, looking at the Tardis screen, where they'd uploaded the new photos from Jackie. "Just a year here, and it's four years later there. When I left, the babies couldn't even sit up – well, according to Mum, they couldn't, and now she's sending me pictures of them heading off to school."

"Parallel worlds are like that," said the Doctor. "Is Molly sticking her tongue out at you?"

"I think she's doing it to Pete, not me."

"Looks like you, she does."

"I think Donald does more," said Rose, and leaned back against him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Every story Mum tells, I remember happening. Except I was there the first time around. Half of what she tells me, I've forgotten I knew. Oh, there's Donald. Mum always says he's just like me, running off and getting into scrapes, and Molly has to rescue him at least once a day."

"Would that make me Molly?"

"I rescue you just as often."

"And you look better in a dress."

She laughed, and kept her focus on the images flickering on the screen. "Molly in school uniform."

"She'll be a tall one. Blonde hair like yours."

"Mine hasn't been that blonde in ages."

Rose fell silent, and he looked down at her. She was lost in thought, and he touched her on the cheek, a signal they'd worked out after several months of false starts. He sensed her acquiescence, and closed his eyes.

It only took a moment for the purple edges of his consciousness to overlap with the silvery-turquoise of hers. There weren't words – there never were, her telepathic powers weren't even close to that range of capability – and he would never be able to access everything if they only overlapped a bit, but he was able to see what was on the surface. Of course, it was a two-way street; she could see his thoughts just as easily, at least the ones he didn't keep safely locked away in the back of his mind, where she couldn't reach. Images and feelings rushed between them before he pulled the edges back from hers, though he kept his arm around her. When they had broken the link, he leaned forward and rested his lips on her hair – not a kiss so much as a gentle caress.

Rose went very still; he could feel the tension creep along her limbs. "You owe me a penny," she said.

"I'll pay up later. Nothing will happen to them, Rose. They probably won't even notice anything particular about that day. Might think of you a little more often, but to them, you've been gone four years already."

Rose kept her focus on the screen. "I wish I'd asked Mum the date yesterday. Molly and Donald had been in school for two months when you pulled me through the crossroads, and here's pictures of their first day. I know time moves faster there – do you think it'll be another week, and then they'll pass that mark? When they start really living without me?"

"They are living without you, love," said the Doctor, keeping his voice as kind as he could even though the words were harsh. "They won't suddenly remember you'd been there an extra four years."

"But you don't really know, do you? You're just guessing. You haven't done this before."

She didn't notice him wince, just a bit, but even that memory, the one he'd never told her, remained safe from her for now. "I don't reverse time as a daily course of action, no, but I'm making an extremely educated Time Lord-me guess. There is no reason to think that just because I collapsed their time once, it will spontaneously do so again with little or no interference from me."

She huffed and rested her head against his chest. The photographs were cycling through Jackie and Pete now, Jackie showing off her garden, and Pete exhibiting the trellis he'd constructed for her. "I'm going to watch them grow old, aren't I? If they're aging four years for every one of mine – I mean, it'll be a little like I'm immortal. They'll grow older and die, and I'll still be younger than I really ought to be."

The Doctor slipped his hand over hers. "Rose—"

"Only – I didn't think of it until just now." She looked at him, her cheek rubbing against his suit coat. "That's what you meant, isn't it? You once said how hard it was to watch people wither and grow old, when you stayed young forever. I thought I understood you a little, but I—"

"You were young," said the Doctor gently. He brushed his fingers through her hair. "You really did think you'd be young forever."

"Something like that, I suppose." She burrowed into his coat, pressing her cheek against the lapel. "Do – do you think it was the right thing to do? Not telling Mum about the nanogenes?"

"It wouldn't have done very much good, would it? Just give her a reason to worry. Another reason, I mean. I suspect there's things she doesn't tell you, either."

"Nothing big like me growing another heart, or suddenly developing a Gallifreyan physiology."

"Not quite Gallifreyan."

"Close enough, you said, to think that I'll live just as long as a true Gallifreyan, maybe short ten years, and close enough that my mind works like a Gallifreyan, absent an understanding of astrophysics." Rose bit her lip. "Did I tell you what she asked me the last time? She wanted to know if I might – never mind."

"No, what?"

Rose squeezed her eyes shut. Sharing images was a two-way street, as was asking permission. Not that he'd requested she ask, but Rose felt it rude to go barging into his mind when he had to knock on the proverbial door of hers. So she reached up and touched his cheek, just one small slightly warmer finger, and waited for his response. As always, it came, welcome and opening, and she let the purple and silvery-turquoise just barely touch, just long enough to give him one very specific image, gleaned from her memories of Molly and Donald as babies, before she retreated again, letting her finger drop back down to play with the buttons on his coat.

The Doctor, startled, took a moment to answer. "Oh."

"It's all right, I gave her a line about how it's not like that," said Rose. "I don't think she believed me, so I told her humans and Time Lords aren't compatible, and I think that might buy me a little time. She'll probably start in on it again next month."

"That's not true, you know."

"All right, three weeks." Rose sat back up. "Maybe Pete could just get _her_ pregnant again, that would get her off my back about it."

"That's not what I meant about it not being true," the Doctor corrected her. "Although I agree she'll bring it up in three weeks, not four."

Rose blinked. "You said snogging me wouldn't get me pregnant."

"It won't."

Her temper flared just a little as she reminded herself that it had been a bad idea to bring up her Mum's conversation. "Well, then, compatible doesn't really come into it, does it? Since you haven't even _tried_ to snog me the past six months, have you? Don't think I don't know you finished all your testing and comparing on your blood samples ages ago. Maybe Time Lords _do_ get pregnant with snogs, Doctor, is that what scares you the most?"

He groaned. "Rose—"

She almost jumped off the seat, but he took her by the arms and pulled her to him, letting his lips fall on hers in a kiss that was more possessive and insistent than gentle. She was right – the reason he hadn't kissed her in six months had everything to do with the results from his infernal tests. It wasn't that he didn't want to kiss Rose – oh, Rassilon, how he wanted to do what he was doing just now, tasting and licking and sucking and touching; the feel of her body pressed to his now; the way her mouth tasted of peppermint and cinnamon. If he wasn't careful, he could easily forget why he'd stopped.

She certainly had no objection to the kiss; Rose responded to his show of possession in kind, slipping her fingers into his hair and pulling him down into her, in a battle of control and contrast. Her mouth was just a bit warmer than his, and her blood was quicker. Through the telepathic link that inevitably came with a kiss, he could feel a familiar heat rising in her as she pushed back against him with equal force, nearly crawling up onto his lap, pushing herself so close to him, overlapping their thoughts so thoroughly, he couldn't tell if he'd slipped his fingers under the hem of her blouse of his own volition, or if she'd told him to do it.

It was when Rose let her hands drift down from his hair to the collar of his Henley, the odd warming spark he felt as her skin touched his – he remembered. He couldn't stop the groan which escaped from his throat as reality came knocking, and Rose answered in half whimpering moans, completely misunderstanding his disappointment for lust, and emphasizing his need to stop them both. He managed to wrap his fingers around her arms in a half-mad attempt to push her away, but couldn't find the heart to end the kiss before she was ready.

They were both gasping for air when it was over. The Doctor rested his forehead against Rose's; he could feel her entire body trembling against his, but even with their thoughts overlapping, he couldn't tell if it was from excitement or nerves. Her thoughts were in complete turmoil, and he took advantage of her momentarily displacement to speak. "It has nothing to do with want," he said, his voice rasping. "It has more to do with an excess of change."

Rose pulled back sharply; her lips were dark pink, and her cheeks were pinker. He felt her thoughts recede just as quickly, like waves rolling down the beach. The hurt on her face was unmistakable. "Is that why you stopped kissing me? Too complicated for you, isn't it, a relationship like that."

"No – that's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"I like kissing you, Rose," he snapped.

"Funny way of showing it, when you stop entirely for six months," countered Rose.

"That's why I had to stop kissing you."

"That doesn't make any sense!"

"That's what I'm _trying_ to explain!"

She pushed against him half-heartedly, more to goad him than to actually get away. "You're doing a piss-poor job of it."

"You asked if I liked companions without complications, I told you I didn't!"

"That wasn't the real question!"

"Rose, I didn't read that much when you showed me a baby cradle, you're going to actually have to _ask_ me something!"

"What am I _doing_ here?" she asked, almost angry. "Missed me, you said. Lonely, you said. Well, I'm _here_, and you accost me in the corridors every so often, and then it's back to the next adventure and no end in sight. And I _like_ the adventure, more than I thought I would when I came back, but _Doctor_, really! You can't just snog a girl senseless in the rain one day and the next refuse to so much as brush by her in the corridor! I'm twenty-two or twenty-six or maybe I'm thirty, to Mum, and maybe—" She pulled away then. "I – oh, never mind!"

Rose managed to pull away successfully then, and ran from the console room deep into the Tardis. He was suddenly cold, where she'd been pressed, and the Doctor blinked for a moment, eyes on the door where she'd gone. He was enormously clever, and he could travel through time and space, rescue planets, and restore civilizations to their proper order; he had managed to save queens and kings and authors and monsters from their own self destruction. He could talk anyone into or out of anything, and indeed _talking_ was one of the things he was best at doing.

Even with all this, and despite a year of good intentions, he had never quite managed to sit and have the proper conversation with Rose he'd promised himself he would. They didn't ever truly share the entire wealth of their minds with each other, so it had been all too easy to keep it from her. There were some things he had no intention of ever telling her – the year with the Master, the woman he'd met in 1913, or what had happened the first time he'd seen a crossroads – but there were things that she was entitled to know. It was easy to tell himself that she wasn't ready for the information anyway, that she was too thoroughly enjoying their gallivanting across the universe, that they had plenty of time to settle down later, since she'd live a century before the end.

Only – that image of a cradle showed that Rose was very likely very ready for that conversation. The Doctor wasn't certain if Rose realized it, but the cradle she'd shown him had not only not been empty, it had two very familiar figures standing on either side gazing in. The Doctor understood that the baby inside was based on Molly, but the figures beside the cradle were most certainly _not_ Jackie and Pete Tyler.

The Doctor sighed. Parallel worlds or no, time passed too quickly some days. He hopped off the jump seat and went to find Rose.


	2. Conversation, Beginning

**Disclaimer:** _Not mine. It's very sad, I agree. If it looks familiar, it's because it's also on LJ and Teaspoon._  
**Chapter Summary: **_The Doctor finally bites the bullet and begins telling Rose what he should have done six months ago, when they are very rudely interrupted.  
_

* * *

**Chapter Two: Conversation, Beginning**

The Doctor found Rose in the library, huddled in her favorite chair, a soft blue plush pillow-like concoction that nearly enveloped her so thoroughly that often all that could be seen of her was the top of her head. She wasn't reading – her eyes were closed, her hands cupped over her mouth and nose, and she inhaled deeply, as though she tried desperately not to cry. He didn't dare test telepathic boundaries to see how she really felt; instead, the Doctor sat on the low footstool across from the chair and spoke.

"You aren't 30, you know."

Rose dropped her hands to stare at him; her eyes were red but dry. "I know I'm not, you git. According to my watch, I'm 26 years, 3 months, and 14 days, including the five years I spent without you."

"No hours?"

"I don't pay attention to hours," she replied, crossing her arms. "Have you come to lecture me or snog me senseless?"

"Neither."

"Then go away, I'm practicing astral projection," she snapped, and closed her eyes again.

"I'm actually here to have a conversation I ought to have had with you six months ago, right after I finished testing our blood samples."

Her eyes popped open again. "Aha! I knew I was right about that."

"Yes, well—" He rubbed the back of his neck. "You're very clever for a human and just a tic short of clever for a Gallifreyan, and woe be to me to assume you don't know what I'm lurking about doing before I've started the lurking. I have never given you enough credit—"

"Oh, enough, please. If the conversation is all about buttering me up, I'd just as soon practice projecting."

"_I_ can't even astral project."

"Lots of things you can't do. Like conversation."

"You keep interrupting me."

"You keep not starting it."

"I'll start once you stop interrupting."

"I'll stop interrupting if you ever—"

He leaned forward and clamped a hand over her mouth. "Hush. I want to tell you a story."

Her voice was clear, if muffled, through his hand. "A story is conversation and not lecture?"

He glared, and she blinked, unafraid. "When I was very young, before I'd ever regenerated – this was quite a long time ago, you understand – I still lived on Gallifrey and I had a very normal Time Lord life."

He paused, wondering if she would try to make another remark, but she remained silent. He moved his hand cautiously. She still didn't say anything, so he decided it was safe to trust her.

"And like a good young Time Lord in training, I was married off and sent to the Looms to make my contribution to progeny."

Rose blinked. "I think the Tardis's translation stopped working."

There was a violent hum from the ship, and the lights flickered.

"Don't be sarcastic, the Tardis doesn't like it," he scolded her gently. "Besides, I'm speaking English. The Tardis won't translate Gallifreyan."

Rose leaned over and patted the floor lovingly. "I'm sorry." She looked up at the Doctor. "Only you really did lose me there. Young Time Lord, all right. I can picture you in school uniform, always leaving a trail of books and banana peels behind you. Married off – sounds rather medieval, like an arranged marriage or something, but that's fine, I get the idea. Only – looms?"

"It _was_ an arranged marriage," he admitted. "Although not quite a marriage in the same way as you'd understand it. There wasn't marriage on Gallifrey – it was more of a partnership, really. As for the Looms, years before I was born – well, we stopped being born. Time Lords, I mean. You didn't have a mother and a father as such, although there was a man and a woman who contributed to your genetic make-up. Their DNA was mixed and it was that combination that was used as a pattern to create a child. The process was called Looming, a bit like weaving fabric, I suppose."

Her eyes went wide. "You were stitched together?"

"Oi, I'm not Frankenstein!"

"Do you know who your parents were?"

"I knew my father quite well, actually. Wasn't fond of him, but he wasn't fond of me so no loss there."

"What about your—" She hesitated. "Wife?"

He leaned back. "Ah. What do you want to know?"

"I'm not sure. Did you – I mean – it's not really any of my business—"

"It's all your business, Rose," he said gently. "That's why we're having this conversation."

She took a breath. "All right. In no particular order: did you love her, did she love you, how arranged was the marriage, and how exactly did you contribute your part of the DNA?" She blushed. "Actually, don't worry about that last bit, I don't think I want to know."

"You probably don't," he said, half amused. "But let me assure you, it wasn't half as interesting as how most species procreate. Involved syringes, for one thing." She shuddered, and he grinned. "Lots of people about, too. I think I had to demonstrate for someone else, although I don't know _why_ since I only did it the once, and didn't really know what I was doing anyway. Not like that's ever stopped me before. There was a bit of ritual with it, though, very solemn thing, a bit of smoke and flash and recitation—" Rose's face grew more horrified by the moment, and his grin grew wider. "I'm only half teasing."

"Hard to tell sometimes."

"You don't want to know her name?"

She was quiet for a moment. "Only if you want to tell it."

"Odd response."

"Well, I don't particularly want to think about her," said Rose, a bit hotly, and he reached over and touched her cheek.

"Just to show?" he asked, and she nodded. "This is how I felt about her."

He let their edges overlap and kept his eyes on Rose's face while his mind sifted through memories of the woman he'd never really thought of as wife, trying to decide which to show the girl sitting in the chair. There was love and companionship, friendship and laughter, sharing and caring and jokes and conversation. It took a few moments to transfer all of these to Rose, and the Doctor slipped in specific memories as well, the two of them running through the halls after having pulled a joke on a professor, and flying her first Tardis, and swimming in a lake the color of emeralds. All too soon, the last time he'd seen her, the wretch of having to leave her behind as he ran for his life, in his Tardis, leaving Gallifrey for what he thought was forever, and knowing he'd never be able to share anything with her again.

He let the memories drift back into his own conscious space, away from Rose, well aware that her breathing had grown harder, and she was trying to blink back tears. He had been so busy sorting through what to show her, he hadn't looked closely to see if they were tears of hurt, or sympathy. He couldn't look now; there was more he had to show.

"This is you," the Doctor whispered, and the onslaught began again, but it was magnified out of recognition. It was tenderness and togetherness, joy so bright they shone, laughter so hard their sides hurt. It was love so strong it knocked them both over and over until they couldn't tell what way was up, and encompassing every part of their daily lives, from brushing against each other in the corridor to passing the sugar during afternoon tea. It was the memory of standing together under red skies, promising forever and meaning it, a moment on the Tardis when they'd thought they lost each other, and he swirled her in circles as they laughed. It was their first kiss, powered by the Vortex, followed by the fear when he thought she didn't love him in his new form, and the bottomless devastation when he'd left her on the beach in Norway, unable to say the words on the tip of his tongue. It was the gentle kiss just after her return, his elation when she had finally opened her eyes and said his name, of the soft comfort waking up in each other's arms after the nanogenes had enveloped them both. It went on forever, rolling like waves, and this time when the Doctor pulled away, tears cascaded down Rose's cheeks like raindrops.

"I didn't know," she whispered, and he knelt in front of her and wiped her face with his thumbs.

"Couldn't say it in words."

"Funny coming from you," she said, trying to smile. "I—"

"Shh," he said, and leaned into kiss her – a gentle kiss, considering, but he didn't want to be distracted. "I have more to tell you, words this time. I want you to understand. You and she – no comparison. I don't want you to misconstrue that what I feel for you and what I felt for her – still feel for her, really – are in any way similar."

"What was her name?"

The Doctor paused. "I called her Carissa."

But Rose smiled a little. "Pretty. I hope she didn't call you the Doctor."

He grinned. "No, that didn't come until much later. Someday I'll tell you that story too. But now, I have to tell you this story."

"About Carissa."

"Not quite, but Carissa is part of it. She and I – we'd been friends since we were very small. I suppose it was natural that we'd be partnered for a Looming. We weren't married, as you perceive it, but were bonded together by the process, a sort of partnership. We never called each other wife or husband – the terms don't exist on Gallifrey. We certainly never felt that way about each other, even after the Looming."

A light dawned in Rose's eyes. "You said – you'd been a father, once. Is this what you meant?"

"When did I say that?"

"At the Olympics, when the girl was possessed by the little jellyfish thing, the one who put you in a drawing. You said you'd been a father, but you never explained."

"Then yes, this is what I meant. Carissa and I, we Loomed a child. So in a manner of speaking, I was a father, and I have to tell you, I was absolute rubbish. Parents aren't really of much use to a Time Tot, they spend—" He frowned. "Why are you giggling?"

"Oh, no, _please_ don't tell me that's what they're actually _called_? Time Tots?"

"What's wrong with Time Tots?" he asked indignantly.

"It's just so – _corny_." She covered her mouth, giggling harder. "What about Timelings? Or Tiny Times?" She dissolved into giggles, and his frown deepened.

"I'm _trying_ to have a serious conversation here."

She struggled to stop giggling. "I'm sorry. I'll behave. Please, tell me about the—" She gulped back a laugh. "Time Tots?"

He really truly intended to do so – he had every intention of telling her the rest – only the cloisters began to ring, and the Tardis shook as though it had rammed into an asteroid field. The Doctor was knocked sprawling to the floor, and as soon as the Tardis stopped shuddering, he sprang to his feet and grabbed Rose by the hand.

"What is it?"

"We've been knocked out of orbit," he said. "_Run_."


	3. Time Collapse

**Disclaimer:** _Not mine. It's very sad, I agree. If it looks familiar, it's because it's also on LJ and Teaspoon._  
**Chapter Summary: **_Mickey Smith's day started out badly, and that was **before**__ he remembered four years which don't exist._

* * *

**Chapter Three: Time Collapse**

Mickey Smith was not having a good day. The only clean trousers in his closet were pinstripes. The only fruit in the cafeteria was bananas. There were an ungodly number of people wearing leather jackets in the lift. As if this wasn't enough, there was a power fluctuation first thing that morning – every light in the building had gone off for five seconds, which meant that most of the protocols for safety were thrown right out the window. Despite rows of backup generators, none of them had come online, and this involved a great deal of backtracking in the basements and storage facilities, mostly to ensure that everything was in its proper place and either hadn't been adversely affected by the surges, or simply hadn't been stolen. It was a long, aching process, and generally Mickey steered clear of it.

But there was one item only he could check, and it was left to him to handle, and it couldn't wait. So Mickey went down into the bowels of Torchwood Tower, grumbling the while about inconvenience and folly, to a long hallway with a single door at the end, bolted shut. It took a few minutes of fumbling before the door swung wide from its locks, and Mickey had every intention of simply checking to make sure the object was still there, and then going right back upstairs to the mountain of paperwork, but for one small detail.

The stupid blue box in the basement was humming. It was a hum he recognized only too well. And since the box had not hummed in four years, this caught him off-guard.

Mickey stared blinking at the box for a minute, wondering what he ought to do. No one else at Torchwood had ever been able to see the box, save for Rose Tyler, and she had been gone for four years. Jackie had asked to see it after Rose had disappeared, and he'd managed to grant her access. To his surprise, Jackie had been able to see the box as well, but by then it'd stopped humming, and she was able to give him the cursory message from the Doctor to keep it safely locked up, untouched and unchanged. He'd promised – you didn't not promise Jackie Tyler – but other than the weekly checks, he didn't think much about it.

And now it was humming.

Mickey watched the box for a moment, wondering. He took a step closer to it, then shook his head.

"Stupid," he muttered, and turned to leave the room. It was when he was closing the door that he thought he heard Rose scream, but just then the door fell closed with a sharp crack, and for ten seconds or ten hours, Mickey Smith was lost in black.

* * *

"Mr. Smith?"

Mickey opened his eyes.

"Mr. Smith?" The underling – Mickey didn't know his name, had never seen him before – knelt next to him in the hall, deep in the bowels of Torchwood, shaking him gently on the shoulder. The moment Mickey opened his eyes, the underling jumped back, as if he'd been taking great leave in touching Mickey at all, even if it was to shake him awake.

"Where am I?" muttered Mickey, the fog in his head stubbornly refusing the clear. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure, Mr. Smith – there was a power fluctuation, you came down here to Room Negative 27. That was four hours ago, we called Security and they found you down here."

"_Pinstripes," Rose said, her calm voice belying the wounded look in her eyes. "You only wear them when there's nothing else."_

"_You can comment on my choice of clothing, or you can get on with it," said Mickey, annoyed that she'd noticed. "It's started to hum again."_

Mickey blinked, and saw the security team surrounding them, peering at him with curiosity etched on their faces. He frowned, trying to shake the snatches of memory sliding back even as he wanted to hold onto them desperately. "Room Negative 27 – the blue box. Is it all right?"

"Yes, sir," said the boy eagerly. "I mean, the door's locked. We found you out here on the ground. I was about to run for medical when you came to."

_Her voice was wistful and sad, and it cut Mickey to the core. "A blue box humming in the basement on top of a few other things today…"_

"What's your name?"

The boy blinked. "Colin, sir. Colin Barker."

"Mr. Barker, why are you telling me this?"

Barker gave him a puzzled look. "Sir, it's part of my job. I'm your assistant."

"_It's impossible, Rose. You've got to let it go."_

Mickey frowned. "I've never met you before in my life. Where's Rose Tyler?"

Barker shook his head, confused. "Who?"

"Rose Tyler," said Mickey impatiently. More and more of the memories were coming back to him, in larger chunks. "In charge of inventory and special holdings, for the last four years."

Barker shook his head. "I – ah – sir, I've been here for the last year and a half. I've never met Rose Tyler. I've been doing your inventory status for the last nine months."

Mickey stared at him. "I distinctly remember Rose Tyler being here this morning. She and I discussed the blue box in Room Negative 27, and I sent her there to do an inspection on it. Are you telling me, Mr. Barker, that I'm imagining it?"

Barker didn't reply, and Mickey felt his stomach contract. He stood up abruptly, and his head began to swim. Barker had to prop him up, using the wall for assistance, and Mickey looked sharply at the security staff surrounding them.

"You," he barked, halfway angry and halfway scared out of his mind. "You ought to remember her, sergeant – you dated Rose Tyler for a few months last year, didn't you?"

The sergeant shook his head slowly. "I've never met anyone named Rose Tyler, sir."

Mickey stared at the man in shock. It was going wrong – it was all going wrong. "Test results," he choked out, but Barker only shook his head, and Mickey never heard the rest of the words coming out of his mouth. He thought he might be sick, there in the hall, and pushed away from all of them, falling into the lift's open doors as they reached to help him stand. Mickey shoved their hands off of him, unable to stomach the thought of their fingers brushing over him.

"Lock the damn door and don't let anyone in there," he gasped at them, as the doors to the lift slid shut.

He remembered clear as day, handing test results to Rose Tyler just that morning, asking her to inspect the blue box in Room Negative 27. He remembered the way Rose had acted so strangely before she'd gone, and the way his headache had come on so fast at the same time that the lights had flickered only twenty minutes before.

Twenty minutes – it had to have been twenty minutes. But the kid, Barker – had said four hours. Mickey checked his watch; it was nearing one in the afternoon. Four hours, indeed.

The lift crested ground level, rising higher in the air, up toward the upper levels of Torchwood Tower. Mickey stared out the windowed sides of the box, and could have sworn the day had been bright and clear that morning. Now low clouds hung over London, the sign of a storm front moving in.

All of a sudden, Mickey had a powerful urge to call Jackie Tyler. Just to see. Just to check. Just to make sure that Jackie Tyler existed at all.

* * *

Jake watched Mickey pace back and forth across the living room. It had gotten easier, over the last eight years, to have Mickey and not Ricky join him for dinner, even if the evening didn't end in the same way. Had it been Ricky, dessert would have been served in the bedroom. With Mickey, however, it was usually served over poker, assuming there was dessert at all.

But Mickey was determined to keep up the regular evenings with Jake. They'd started out as a sort of orientation to the parallel world, teaching Mickey what was different, what was the same, the particular rules and history to his new life. Jake had enjoyed being the teacher for once – it had always been the other way around with Ricky. He was almost disappointed when Mickey stopped asking questions as frequently, when the history lessons concluded, because he was afraid it meant that Mickey wouldn't continue to come over.

Except he did, and instead of instruction, he taught Jake to play poker. Or they'd watch a movie. Or discuss Torchwood, or Pete Tyler, or any number of things.

Rose had joined them, when she arrived, and Jake began the lessons again, this time with Mickey's assistance. After she'd gone back to the Doctor – Jake had never quite understood how – they'd invited others to join them, and it became a sort of group. Jake became social, in a way he'd never really been before. He had friends, a life, a purpose, a job with Torchwood, and even though Mickey wasn't his, in some ways, life was better.

Jake had never seen Mickey so agitated as he was now, pacing from wall to wall, every so often kicking at the air, unable to speak. Jake sat on the couch, popped open a cider, and waited. It didn't take long.

"I'm losing my mind."

"How's that?"

"You remember Rose Tyler going back to our original world four years ago."

"Yeah, so?"

"I talked to her this morning."

"She calls her mum every couple of days, yeah, you said."

"No, she was in my _office_, and I talked to her. I gave her some test results and she went down to the basement to look at something, and she disappeared."

Jake frowned. "Mate, I've heard that story before. Four _years_ ago."

"I'm telling you, Jake, it happened this morning! Except everyone seems to _think_ it happened four years ago."

"So what, you're telling me you've jumped forward in time?"

"No," said Mickey irritably, and he stopped pacing to sit on the nearest chair. "Maybe I'm the only one who remembers the last four years, and all the rest of you jumped back. I remember Rose being here for five years. Everyone else thinks it was one. I remember Rose hanging with us every Saturday night. The bloke she dated two months ago doesn't even remember she exists. I've got four years of memories with Rose in my head, Jake, and the entire world is telling me they're not real."

Jake watched him for a moment. "What do you think?"

Mickey exhaled. "I don't know. I want to talk to Rose."

"Talk to Jackie."

"I did. Rose usually calls at the same time, every other day. I'll be there when she calls next. Jackie said she'd let us talk. Jackie thinks I've lost it too."

"I don't," said Jake.

Mickey looked askance at him. "I'm sitting here telling you I have four years of memories no one else has and you don't think I dropped my marbles in the Thames?"

"No," said Jake. "You're a lot of things, but insane isn't one of them. I've seen too much weird shit in my life not to believe you when you say you remember seeing Rose Tyler in your office this morning. Thing is, Mickey, there was always something funny about the way she disappeared. Blink, and she's gone into some blue box that only you and she and Jackie Tyler can see, and suddenly you stop talking about her, and Jackie and Pete don't talk about her, and it's like she's wiped out entirely. Takes me effort to even remember what she looks like."

"Yeah, but in your memory she was a girl you knew for a year four years ago. And you have the memory of a flea."

"Point is, it's too clean. I couldn't remember much about her a week after it happened. And my flea-sized memory remembers that you did stop talking about her, full stop, just after she left. Which doesn't make any sense, because in the three years between the Cybermen and Canary Wharf, you talked about her every day."

That got Mickey's attention, and his brow creased as he considered it. "I don't know how to bring this up to her. What do I say, Hello, Rose, did your Doctor fuck with time and pull you out of here two days ago but make everything think you've been gone four years?"

"Sounds like a good start to me," said Jake, lifting his drink. "Cheers!"

"Cheers," said Mickey, but sounded anything but cheerful. He lifted his drink and held it to his lips for a moment, mind racing, and without a sound, collapsed to the floor.

* * *

Mickey woke in a hospital bed. Well, _woke_ wasn't quite the right description. It was more like trying desperately to swim up from the depths of a cloudy ocean into a less cloudy ocean, after which you swam for another ten miles until you were so tired with the swimming that the first murky ocean started to look good. Then you were in a clear ocean but it was still ocean, and finally you washed up on the sand, face down, gasping for air.

Which is exactly how Mickey woke up, gasping for air. Within an instant, Jake was at his side, shouting for the nurse, and Mickey spent the next fifteen minutes with an oxygen mask on his face before he found the energy to rip it off.

"I don't need it," he tried to snap, but it came out a slur.

"Tough," said Jake, and shoved it back on his face.

"I remember," muttered Mickey.

"Remember what? Rose?"

"No," said Mickey, too tired to form complete sentences, "remember _no_ Rose."

Jake snorted. "Now you're making sense, which doesn't make any sense."

"I remember four years with Rose, four years without," muttered Mickey. "Jus' you 'n me went to 39 Steps?"

"Yeah, just us."

"You said – you said lead bloke was hot."

Jake was quiet. "Yeah."

"Told you."

"I didn't doubt you," said Jake. "But you remember Rose there too?"

"Not too," said Mickey. He struggled to push through the leftover haze, to find the right words to express himself. "I remember Rose and me, and I remember you and me. Two memories, same night, same show. It's like that, all four years." He winced. "Makes my head hurt."

Jake rocked back in his chair. "When is Rose calling her mother again?"

"Tomorrow?"

"I think," said Jake, "you better be there when she does."

"That's the plan."

"Good," said Jake, and something in his voice made Mickey's heart lurch.

"Jake – what do you know?"

Jake shrugged. "It's nothing. You'll be fine." His voice was cheerful and brave, and Mickey didn't buy it.

"What did the doctor say?"

Jake refused to look at Mickey, and didn't say a word – but Mickey had known Jake for eight years, and even if he wasn't Ricky, words weren't always necessary.


	4. Tractor Beam

**Disclaimer:** _Not mine. It's very sad, I agree. If it looks familiar, it's because it's also on LJ and Teaspoon._  
**Chapter Summary: **_The Doctor discovers he isn't necessarily the star of the show – and he's not altogether certain he likes that turn of events._  
**Author's Note:** _Please note that the Deathsmiths are not my creation; they are an actual canon species from one of the DW comics called "Black Legacy". Mr. Paralogginstrainosmitt is entirely my own, as is the description of the Deathsmiths, since I couldn't find a good picture of them. I'm merely borrowing the species for the time being and shall return it unharmed...mostly._

* * *

**Chapter Four: Tractor Beam**

It was all Rose and the Doctor could do to remain upright as they ran for the console room. The Tardis shook violently, and even the Doctor, who had a very good sense of balance, couldn't help but careen from one side of the corridor to the other.

"Oi, this'll leave a mark," he muttered.

"Speak for yourself," replied Rose, not quite successful at masking her trepidation. When they finally made it to the console room, they had to hold tight onto the railing to reach the controls – but the moment the Doctor found himself in front of the gravitational levers, the Tardis stopped rocking.

Rose was still on the ramp, hanging on to the railing for dear life. "Is it too much to assume we're safe now?" she asked hopefully, and he shook his head.

"No. I think we're being held by a tractor beam."

She brightened. "Captain Jack?"

The expression on his face was something between incredulous and wounded. "Why do tractor beams make you think of Jack Harkness?"

"I don't know that many people with tractor beams!"

The Doctor scoffed. "Don't know that many….I might be able to snap us out of it – hold tight." He rocked the gravitational levers quickly, and reached over two panels to knock the drivers online.

The Tardis didn't so much as wiggle.

"Ah," said Rose brightly. "That worked well. Can't we just jump forward a few dozen years?"

"Not when we're in orbit; we need to be stationary."

"We're not in orbit, we're in a tractor beam," she pointed out. "And presumably, it's pulling us somewhere. So we wait until it's dropped us wherever they intend to drop us, and we're off."

He grinned at her. "My brilliant Rose. I doubt it will be quite that easy, but we can try."

"You promised me Will Shakespeare, and I spotted the most gorgeous Elizabethan gown in the Wardrobe last week."

"So I did. I'll set the coordinates and we'll be off before you know it."

Assuming, of course, that it worked, and he wasn't terribly certain it would. As Rose took her customary position on the jump seat, he moved around the panels, setting the coordinates for Earth, 1597 – but also carefully pressing switches and buttons below the main paneling, ones that were setting up the Tardis's defenses, just in case the time jump didn't work. Any species with tractor beam technology would certainly have their own inhibitors set up to discourage their prey from making too easy a get-away, even if the prey was a highly-advanced Tardis.

Setting up the secondary plan was something Carissa had always done. She was near the forefront of his thoughts now – he hadn't thought about the emerald sea or her first Tardis flight in centuries, but reliving them with Rose – for a moment, the Doctor felt guilty that he'd forgotten her. There had been a time when she was his best – sometimes only – friend.

A thrum of consolation from the Tardis filled him with warmth, and he smiled. Carissa, despite having died along with the rest of Gallifrey, would have chided him for his distraction, and then joined Rose on the jump seat to poke fun at him. He continued moving around the console, checking and rechecking that everything was in order. Soon they both felt the Tardis touch down onto a surface, and the Doctor hit the time activation switch.

Nothing happened.

They both looked at each other, eyes wide. "It didn't work," said Rose, her voice shaking a little.

"Well, that's one idea done," sighed the Doctor, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking up at the central beams. "I didn't really think it would work, but it was worth a go."

"I s'pose." Rose took a breath, and hopped off the seat. "Ah well. Let's go find out where we are."

"Rose, _no_. We were pulled in with a tractor beam, I suspect whoever did it isn't going to be friendly. You'll stay here." Rose crossed her arms and shook her head.

"Oh, no. I'm coming out with you. Every time we get separated, bad things happen."

"Bad things happen because you end up wandering off. If you didn't wander off, you'd be fine."

"Which is why I'm coming with you, so that you don't wander off."

"I don't wander off! I'm always exactly where I need to be."

Rose snorted, and pushed past him to the door. "I'm going."

"You're not."

"I am!"

"You won't!"

"Stop me!"

"If you insist." He took her by the waist and easily lifted her up in the air. Kicking a grating open, he dropped her in. She'd be able to climb out, of course, but it gave him enough time to race to the door and fling himself outside, locking her securely in.

The Tardis was in the center of a large landing bay, very nearly empty save for a ring of tall, extremely black obelisks that circled around him, set back a few meters. Beyond them, he could see nothing but an empty room, with gray walls and gray floor, devoid of any kind of decoration, writing, or any sort of indication where they might be or who might have taken them there. The Doctor looked up and frowned.

"Doctor," hissed Rose through the door. "I want to know who's kidnapping us."

"Says the girl who has vague telepathic abilities."

"I can't read their minds!"

"So read mine."

There was a pause. "I can't touch your check from in here!"

The Doctor groaned. "Stop being so human!"

"_I am human_," came the terse response, and considering the circumstances, he elected not to argue.

"Rose, just do it!"

Silvery-turquoise thoughts overlapped the purple border of his so quickly, the Doctor was nearly jarred off his feet, and he quickly showed her the image of the black obelisks.

"Like a force field?"

"That was my first thought. But look here." He turned his gaze up. Just at the top of the obelisks, the image of a plain gray room ended, and suddenly they both had the impression of being in a much larger, much darker room, with stairwells and doors and catwalks, all lit with neon lights.

"Like an operating theatre," said Rose. The Doctor shook his head, forgetting she couldn't see him.

"I don't think they're force fields – I think they're image projectors. We're seeing an image of an empty room, because whoever has kidnapped us _wants_ us to see an empty room."

He walked away from the Tardis, pulling a bit of paper out of his pocket. He crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it over the image between the obelisks. It sailed up and over, and did not reappear on the other side when it came down.

"Yep," he said proudly. "Image projector."

The sound of applause filled the room. "Oh, very clever, very clever, good show, simply marvelous!" came a small, high-pitched and very excited voice. The Doctor began to scan the room, looking for its owner.

"Hello?"

"Only two point six minutes for you to figure it out, I do say you bested our best predictions. I thought it would be at least three, but well done, well done, no hard feelings, showing us all up. Jolly good."

"Ta, nothing," said the Doctor. "I'm sorry, but where are you?"

"Oh, right, of course, sorry, I forgot the shields were still up." The images shimmered, and were gone, revealing a room full of creatures, all applauding like mad. They were fairly short, the tallest perhaps going up to the Doctor's chest, and wore black lab coats over black clothes. Their faces were very nearly flat, with slit-like mouths and no discernable noses or ears. Each had white, wispy hair making a thin halo over sky-blue skin, and when the Doctor showed Rose the image, he could feel her begin to laugh.

"Better now," said one of the creatures, who stepped through the obelisks to greet the Doctor. "Much better, much much, good to see you – we're so glad you accepted your invitation—"

"How could I not?" asked the Doctor, matching the creature's cheerfulness.

"So much to learn from you, and we're so anxious, but really it's quite an honor. My name is Paralogginstrainosmitt, it's such a pleasure, really, such an honor just to meet you – and perhaps – if I might be so bold – could I – trouble you – meaning no disrespect of course—" He pulled out a little black-covered book from his pocket, and handed it to the Doctor. "An autograph? For the children, of course."

The Doctor was only momentarily flummoxed, and mostly because Rose was now positively howling with laughter inside the Tardis. "Oh, of course," he said graciously, and signed the book with a flourish, giving Rose a mental shove as he did so. He handed it back to Paralogginstrainosmitt, who was nearly dancing with glee.

"Lovely, lovely, such a souvenir, so kind of you to give it so willingly – _Brothers_!" he suddenly shouted, turning to the rest. The applause instantly stopped, and Paralogginstrainosmitt's voice carried through the hall. "I am oh-so honored to introduce to you, the fierce warrior, the noble champion, the one who has bested our most potent creations – _Rose Tyler_!"

The hall erupted into cheers, stomps, and applause, so loud the room vibrated. The Doctor almost didn't hear Rose's laughter abruptly stop.

"Ah," he said, and leaned down to Paralogginstrainosmitt. "Ah, yes. You see…I'm not Rose Tyler. I'm the Doctor."

The noise instantly stopped. Paralogginstrainosmitt looked up at the Doctor, his eyes narrowing. "Not…Rose…Tyler?"

"Very sorry. But I'm the Doctor!"

Paralogginstrainosmitt mulled this over for a moment. "I suppose that's quite good too," he said finally, in a tone that clearly said it was only just acceptable. "Particularly if you know where Rose Tyler can be found?"

"I do," said the Doctor. "As a matter of fact, I schedule all her appearances, so really, it's quite good that you caught me. I assume you'd like an appointment?"

"Oh, yes, quite."

"Brilliant, and who may I say would like to make her acquaintance?"

Paralogginstrainosmitt straightened his back and puffed out his chest. "I, sir, represent the noble scientists of the Deathsmiths of Goth, and we would be most honored to meet Rose Tyler, the Bad Wolf, who has somehow managed to best our most powerful creation – the exoskeleton and weapons system of the Daleks."

There was nothing but stunned silence from Rose. The Doctor blinked. "Rose _Ty_ler?"

"We heard about what she did at Satellite 5, and we were most impressed. We did not think destruction of the entire Dalek race would have been possible, and as we are scientists at heart, we would greatly like to – shall we say – pick her brain, learn what she might have done, so that we can improve our products. Understand, of course, that the Daleks are hardly our only customers. We merely sell to the highest bidder. We pride ourselves on our defense systems, and we believe a frank and open discussion with her would greatly improve our methodology."

"Defense systems," repeated the Doctor, somewhat skeptical.

"Yes, of course, defense systems. We are preparing a shielding system for several planets even now, young ones with little to no technological capabilities of their own. The best defense will allow them to continue on their way to their full abilities. Like children, these planets are, Doctor – small children, who must be nurtured and cared for, until they take their first tottering steps towards independence, shaking off the careful apron strings of Mother—"

The silvery-turquoise was pulsing rapidly, and the Doctor knew he couldn't hold her back for much longer. "Very well. Let me confer with her for a moment, and I shall see what I can do."

Paralogginstrainosmitt clapped his hands in glee. "Lovely, lovely. I'll make tea."

Rose nearly accosted him the moment he stepped back in the Tardis. "They want _me_?"

"Rose, I don't think this is a good idea."

"Why not? They said it's for defense systems, little child-like planets trying to grow up—"

"From a man who asked for my _autograph_?"

"Really, he wanted mine."

"You're letting fame go to your head."

"You're just sore because he doesn't want to hear about how you saved the world!" laughed Rose. "I _never_ get credit for saving anyone, and here's a whole race of people who want to give it to me. And besides, it's a good story."

"Which you don't remember half of."

"I've heard it often enough, I can make it sound good. Besides, if we don't give them what they want, they'll never let us leave. And you promised me Will Shakespeare."

The Doctor groaned. "All _right_. You can go. But I'm staying with you."

Rose whooped with joy, and ran down the ramp to the door. The Doctor followed glumly, not a single bit pleased. Not _one_ bit.


	5. Mister Paralogginstrainosmitt

**Disclaimer:** _Not mine. It's very sad, I agree. If it looks familiar, it's because it's also on LJ and Teaspoon._  
**Chapter Summary: **_The Doctor may talk about Rule One, but he's very bad at following it.  
_

* * *

**Chapter Five: Mister Paralogginstrainosmitt **

"And here you see our laboratories – all state of the art, of course, natural light as well as incandescent, very important to some of our products, of course, since most are operated in low-levels, we pride ourselves that our devices will work in any situation, any condition, any time, anywhere, anywhen. Full guarantee, of course – although there weren't any Daleks left to take advantage of _that_, which is just as well. But you see why we're so anxious to learn what you did to defeat them, Rose Tyler, quite anxious, as we use the same technology in most of our products, we can't just have things failing with a full guarantee, can we? No no, quite bad for business, and we're the best in the business, really the _only_ in the business, nothing like a Deathsmith product to keep your family safe from harm, is there, Rose Tyler?"

Rose had completely lost what Paralogginstrainosmitt was saying. Ever since she had left the Tardis, she'd felt as though she were on a very odd episode of _Queen for a Day_, had her hand shaken so hard it had nearly gone numb, so many people telling her their long, complicated names, and signed so many autographs she was certain she'd begun spelling her name wrong. Fame and fortune sounded fine, when one didn't have it, but Rose was beginning to think notoriety had its downsides. The Doctor, through it all, had remained quiet and morose, hands in the pockets of his trench coat. In the flurry of her admirers, she had lost their telepathic link, and she didn't want to take it back with him sulking as he was.

Because _of course_ it was sulking. Stupid man, unwilling to share the accolades with her. And really, it _was_ her who saved the world that time on Satellite 5. Well, her and the Tardis. She'd have to think of how to explain the destruction of the Daleks without involving the Tardis; she was fairly certain the Deathsmiths would want to poke around the ship, and Rose had no illusions how that would go over with the Doctor.

"And here you'll find our testing rooms," Paralogginstrainosmitt was saying, and he led them into a long stretch of a room, with various tables and objects, and hundreds of Deathsmiths in black lab coats scurrying around as experiments were held. It looked like quite a bit of nonsense to Rose.

"Hello," said the Doctor, suddenly perking up. "Is that a thermic cutter?"

Paralogginstrainosmitt looked enormously pleased. "It is, sir, it is. Brand new model, cuts through a total of 4,672 items with absolute precision, up to and including multi-layered titanium steel-reinforced diamond sheeting."

"How about a tomato?" asked Rose, and was suitably ignored.

"Goodness," said the Doctor, his eyes growing wide. "Can I—"

"Please," said Paralogginstrainosmitt, enormously pleased, and the Doctor jogged into the room.

"_Doctor_," Rose called after him, suddenly alarmed.

"It's all right, I just want to look," the Doctor called back, completely distracted. "Go on, tell the children a story before bedtime, I won't go anywhere."

"Insufferable prat," muttered Rose. "Last time you bother _me_ about Rule One."

"We can keep him very well entertained for you, Rose Tyler," said Paralogginstrainosmitt, stuffed with pride to have her to himself. "And really, there isn't much more to see, and we would indeed love to hear how you defeated the Daleks at Satellite 5, perhaps over some tea?"

"All right," said Rose, glaring at the Doctor one last time, and she followed Paralogginstrainosmitt out of the room.

Really, Rose thought as she followed Paralogginstrainosmitt down the long and winding hallway, it had been an odd day. Photos from Jackie, followed by an argument, followed by a very odd conversation in the library, followed by a tractor beam, followed by a thousand little blue men shouting her name. Days did not get much odder than that, Doctor or no.

"Tell me, Rose Tyler," said Paralogginstrainosmitt as they walked, "you defeated the Daleks yourself? Without any assistance?"

"That's right," said Rose firmly. "All by myself, no assistance from anyone or anything."

"How?"

"I turned them into dust. Just with a wave of my hand."

Paralogginstrainosmitt nodded, waving his own hand. "Yes, yes, I see. But – how?"

She paused. "I'm not entirely sure how to explain it. They were very confident, and I was very angry. They tried to kill him, you see."

"Him?"

"The Doctor. They were going to kill him, and I rather liked him being around, so I…well, I suppose you could say I gathered up all the power I could summon, and confronted them. I think at the very end, they were afraid."

This seemed to spark Paralogginstrainosmitt's attention. "_Afraid_, afraid, you say? Afraid of you? Afraid of—"

"Of power," said Rose, thoughtfully, trying to remember. "I don't think they expected me to wield so much power. I think it startled them. I know later, when I met with another set of Daleks, I told them what I'd done, and that scared them. And then they died too."

Paralogginstrainosmitt stopped in the middle of the hall and took Rose's hands in his. "Rose Tyler!" he breathed, gazing at her with so much adoration Rose half thought he'd start praying to her. "Thank you. What a brilliant, clever, wonderful girl you are. Imagine – _fear_. You destroyed through fear, and isn't that what we all try to do?"

She smiled, still lost in the memory, but while she recognized and appreciated the compliment, something about his words didn't sound quite right to her.

Paralogginstrainosmitt shook her hands, and gave a nod to the Deathsmith who stood behind her. "We have much to learn from you, clearly," he said, and Rose heard a odd scraping sound. "But we'll have _plenty_ of time to talk later!"

Paralogginstrainosmitt pushed her, and Rose stumbled backwards into a stone-lined cell. The little blue creature wriggled his fingers at her cheerfully. "Enjoy your tea, Rose Tyler!" he sang happily, and the door slammed shut between them.

* * *

The Doctor, despite his best intentions of being annoyed with everything, was having a grand time. He had played with the thermal cutters, and then moved on to the cellular modifiers. He'd sampled a new line of sonic screwdrivers, and now he was examining the top-of-the-line chameleon circuits.

"Mine's broken," he explained cheerfully to the nearest Deathsmith. "Hasn't worked in ages, I've tinkered with it now and then, mighty handy with a circuit myself but nothing on you lot. Can't get it to work, missing a few parts, I think, but that's all right, I like my call box."

"We would be more than happy to offer you a replacement—"

"Oh, no, couldn't think of it, nice of you, though, wouldn't want to infringe. Still, handy, but – no. Although, that cellular modifier, that's right interesting, handy little thing if you're trying to put a large suitcase in a small car."

"Most of our customers use it for other things."

"Oh, I'm sure, no end of uses for it. Ooo, shrink setting, quite good, that. Oi, what's over here now, haven't seen this?"

The Doctor walked up to a draped figure in the corner, still holding onto the small black notebook that doubled as a cellular modifier. "Robot?"

"Our newest device," said the Deathsmith, a touch of awe in its voice. "Our prototype. You could call it a robot, yes, but it's quite so much more. It will be sentient when it is fully realized and activated. We are hoping that Rose Tyler will give us guidance on how to give it the best weaponry available."

The Doctor glanced at him. "Weaponry?"

"The best defense being a good offense, of course."

"Of course," said the Doctor, looking at the figure again. "Still. Good offenses are often fairly tempting to those with better offenses. A bit like playing chicken, did you ever play chicken?"

"Chicken?"

"Earth habit, particularly among young males in cars. You race along a road toward each other, to see who will turn the car out of the way first. Someone usually gets hurt."

"The one with the smaller car," said the Deathsmith.

"Not always," said the Doctor. "I think I could do with a spot of tea, didn't that Paralogginstrainosmitt say there was tea somewhere?"

The Deathsmith blinked. "Tea?"

"Yes, tea, brown liquid, rather bitter, most people add milk and sugar. There are some who add lemon, and an entire continent who like ice, but I rather prefer it hot, with a scone or biscuit on the side. You did say there was some lying about?"

"We rarely have visitors who actually _ask_ for tea, but of course, I can take you," said the Deathsmith smoothly. "Please, follow me."

The Doctor followed the Deathsmith, his hands in his pockets, whistling, and carefully looking at the tables as he passed by. A good thing, he thought, that his pockets were roomy.

Ten minutes later, he found himself unceremoniously shoved into a stone-lined cell, where he found Rose sitting on a cot nailed to the wall, calmly examining her nails.

"Oh, hello," she said, glancing at him. "I don't think much of their tea service, I'll tell you that."


	6. Conversation, Middle

**Disclaimer:** _Not mine. It's very sad, I agree. If it looks familiar, it's because it's also on LJ and Teaspoon._  
**Chapter Summary: **_The Doctor continues to explain why he's stopped kissing Rose. Well, __he__ thinks he's explaining, anyway_.

* * *

**Chapter Six: Conversation, Middle **

"I've already checked the room, Doctor, there's no way out. And the window is fake."

The Doctor didn't stop his examination of the stone-walled cell. "How can the window be fake?"

"Because when I look out, it's showing me London Bridge and everyone is dressed as though it's the 1920s."

"All right, the window is fake. I can still scan the room with the sonic screwdriver and look for faults."

"Have at it, then. But if the Deathsmiths are the type of people to go to all the trouble of putting in stone walls, I suspect they wouldn't have left any chinks."

"I really could have done with some tea," grumbled the Doctor, knowing she was right but scanning anyway.

"I think they have a different interpretation of the word 'tea'," Rose commented. "What did they want from you?"

"Oh, an upgrade for the Tardis. Nothing I can't live without." He shoved the screwdriver back in his pocket with a sigh. "There is exactly one door and one window. The window, as you so helpfully observed, is a fake, and the door exists only because we both came through it – at the moment, I cannot locate the seams. Therefore, Rose Tyler—" He fell on the cot next to her. "We appear to be stuck."

"And no tea."

"And no tea," he agreed.

"I think they'll come back, Mr. Para-whosit said they had more to learn from me. He might bring tea then."

"We can hope so."

"In the meantime," said Rose, sitting up a little. "You can tell me something."

"And what's that?"

"Was it a boy or a girl?"

"Mr. Paralogginstrainosmitt? I believe he's a boy, Rose, but I didn't actually ask."

She shoved him. "_No_, your child. The one you had with Carissa."

The Doctor went just a bit numb then – he hadn't expected Rose to bring the subject up so quickly. "I – I don't know that this is the right place to continue the conversation, Rose."

"We're locked in a jail cell with oodles of time and no chance of escape," Rose pointed out. "And since I know you like to talk, I think a few stories about you in bumbling fatherhood might entertain me."

"Hardly bumbling fatherhood, Rose. The fact that we're in a jail cell is _exactly_ why I don't want to tell you – it's a rather dark story for such a grim location."

"A sunny beach would be better?"

"It might," he said, and turned away. A moment later, he felt Rose creeping up next to him, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Doctor," she said softly. "Please tell me. I'm sure it's not all grim."

He pulled her up suddenly, and kissed her. He knew she was taken aback by the abruptness, and by the force with which his lips covered her own, but still her hands crept up around his neck, and he hungrily let his tongue taste every bit of her mouth. She tasted like mint candy and fruit – peaches, maybe. Not bananas, something sweeter, almost tangy. Just as abruptly as he began, he ended the kiss.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "but – just in case—"

"In case what?"

He settled her back down on his chest, wondering if she could feel his hearts thumping. "It was a boy."

She considered this. "What was his name?"

"The Claim Adjuster." She poked him in the ribs, and he squeezed her. "Sorry – I can't tell you his name."

"Why not?"

"It's not mine to tell. Names were very important on Gallifrey, who knew them could be a rather vital thing."

"I know your name."

He smiled a little at her. "No, you don't, actually. I've only used 'Doctor' for the last seven hundred years or so. Before that, I was called something else."

Rose sat up a little. "Wait a minute. I've been with you all this time, and you've never so much as told me your _name_?"

"There's a reason I use 'Doctor', Rose," he told her, sounding more harsh than he'd really meant. Rose stared at him, too hurt to even pout, and he sighed. "Names give power. For a lot of cultures, really, but my people had the same idea. For us, names have the power to start life – or end it. It's my name that gives me the ability to regenerate. It's my name that keeps me being me. I haven't been called by my true name by any other living person since the day I was Loomed."

"Really?" asked Rose, her voice small.

He brushed the hair back from her face. "When the conversation is over," he said gently, "if you still want to know it – I'll tell you."

She studied him for a moment, the hurt still in her eyes. Slowly, she nodded, and rested back against his chest. He sighed with relief, wondering how long the forgiveness would last.

"Are you the one who said your son's name, when he was Loomed?" she asked. The question made him wince – but so many things in the conversation had that effect, he didn't really notice.

"I know you might not understand it, Rose, but I never actually knew my son's name. It didn't seem to matter, at the time. I had very little to do with him at all, really. Time Tots aren't raised by their parents, they're raised in rather a group nursery, with others close to their age. They _know_ their parents, of course, but the relationship is more akin to a favorite aunt and uncle. Carissa was always much better at being an aunt than I was an uncle. I was so busy at the time, you see – would you believe I was involved in politics then?"

"What, like Parliament?" She giggled. "A House of Time Lords?"

"In a way. I would see him, from time to time, in passing, but I only had four conversations with him in my entire life." His hand on her shoulder squeezed gently. "I do want you to know, I regret that, now. I regretted it later as well, after – well, Carissa was closer to him. They liked each other a great deal, and she would tell me about him, how quick he was, how clever with his fingers, all that."

"Quite right, if he was your son."

"What I said, too."

"Did he look like you?"

The Doctor winced, and didn't answer. Rose shook her head.

"You said you spoke to him four times?"

"Once when he was eight, before he looked into the Time Vortex the first time. I thought it important to speak to him then. He looked at me with such awe. I meant to speak to him after, but… The next time was much later, he was just in school then, and I wanted to give him advice. He took it, very well, very gravely, but the awe wasn't there any longer. Respect, I suppose, but I think he'd become less enamored of me. The third time—"

His head fell back against the stone, and Rose found his hand and squeezed it gently.

"He was a bit of a renegade, my son. He had abandoned his studies and left the Houses, and he'd gone into the mountains. He'd been gone for several years by then, and Carissa had been quite upset, since she liked him so much. Well, he returned, and of course went to her first, which was very wise of him. Young Time Lords who abandon their Houses aren't looked upon very kindly, and had he gone to anyone else, it would have been harsh. Carissa heard his story, and sent him to me, hoping I could talk him out of his plan. She thought he still had respect for me, then. Perhaps he did. It didn't matter."

"Talk him out of what?" asked Rose, softly, and he could hear the fascination in her voice.

The Doctor hesitated, and looked down at Rose. "I could stop telling you the story, you know. I could skip ahead a hundred years and tell you how it ended, and you'd never need to know what happened next. I was a different person then, Rose. I've changed, body and soul, since then, and I'd like to think if it were this body, and this soul, who was in that room when he came to call – it wouldn't have happened. You've seen how merciless I can be like this. My incapacity to forgive doesn't come close to what I felt then."

Rose pushed up just a bit and touched his cheek, and though he was somewhat gratified that she continued the courtesy, he shook his head. She remained upright, watching him.

"He told me about what he'd done while he was gone – he had journeyed through the mountains and found the Gallifreyans who lived there. They had taken him in, when he was ill and nearly dead, and they had treated him well and helped him to recover. He fell in love with one of the girls, and had watched her grow up, and now she was old enough for him to marry. He said it was love, and for all I know, it was. He was going to bond with her, but not just that – he wanted to bring her to the Houses, because he missed the learning and the books. He missed the knowledge and the dust and the bells, and he knew he'd miss her equally if he left her behind."

Rose studied him. "You didn't help him."

He closed his eyes. "Clever, you."

"If you'd helped him, you might not be so frightened to tell me."

"It was a different time," he repeated, a little stronger. "I was a different man. I did what I thought was right. I didn't know—" He swallowed. "I asked you once how long you would stay with me."

"Forever," said Rose.

"I won't hold you to it." Rose's hand began to slip away from his, and he grasped it tighter. "No, I – I'm not sending you away. But if – if you should want to go, I would let you. Do you believe me, Rose? I would let you go away, I wouldn't stop you, I would give you your life and your happiness and everything you asked for, if that's what you wanted, and only if that's what you wanted."

"And if I didn't want?"

He cupped her cheek in his hand. "Then forever," he said. Rose smiled, only a little cautious, and took a breath.

"You didn't let him go back, did you? You stopped him."

"I tried," said the Doctor. Suddenly, he couldn't look in her eyes any longer, and he pushed her down against his chest again before continuing, so that he did not have to bear her eyes looking at his face. "I – I called for the guards. The teachers. I made him wait until they arrived. They came to my rooms, where he was, and they forced him to regenerate. Over and over, in my rooms, as I watched. It took two days, because he was on his first body, and they didn't always wait for the regeneration sickness to abate. I saw him, every him, every body, Rose, and I recognized every one. Right to the last, when they let him live, and they sent him back to the mountains, telling him that if he survived to find his girl, he should never return, because they would take that last life too."

He stopped then, unable to continue, and closed his eyes. Rose was deathly still, barely breathing. In his mind, he saw his son change over and over – hair of brown and black and gold and white; eyes of blue and green and brown. His son was tall and thin or short and muscled, sometimes with freckles and once with a goatee. He screamed, every time, in every voice, and every scream ripped the Doctor's hearts in two, pulling him closer and pushing him farther away at the same time, leaving him cold and absent. He had made no move to help his son, nor spoken words of comfort, though with every new face, he'd felt the unknown sensation of despair and loss. He'd thought it was pity for the lives his son was wasting. Now he knew better.

Rose was shaking now, and for a desperate moment, the Doctor thought their telepathic link might have been established again, but no – her silvery-turquoise thoughts were close to his purple, though there was no overlap. He was almost sorry for it; the comfort would have been helpful, but he didn't want to risk her sharing those memories.

"Rose."

"He lived?"

He hadn't expected those words, but upon hearing them, knew there was nothing else he wanted to hear her say. "Yes. He lived. He was able to reach the mountains, and find his new family, and he lived there for a very long time."

"And Carissa? Did she—"

"She knew he lived, just as she knew what they had done to him, but she never saw him again."

"Did she hate you for it as much as you hated yourself?"

His breath caught. "I—"

Rose pushed up suddenly, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "No, I'm sorry, don't answer. I shouldn't have asked. Don't answer!"

He rested his arms around her, breathing in the scent of her hair. "I hated myself later. I didn't know I hated myself until later. I didn't think of it as hate."

"I didn't mean—"

"Shh, I know what you meant. Carissa – she was sorry he was gone. She didn't hate me for it. I doubt she ever hated me for it. She knew us both too well."

Rose pulled away and kissed him gently, slow and brief. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Even if you didn't really know him. I – I saw you change once. I can't imagine watching it twelve times in a row, without stopping. I think my heart would break before it was half over."

He smiled at her, running his hands up and down her arms. "He came back."

Rose's face turned confused. "But – they said – they'd kill him."

"It was something he had to do. He extracted a price from me, for having seen his every self. He gave me Susan."

Rose was still. "I know that name. Why?"

"She was his youngest child. He had several, but Susan was different. She was the only one who showed the superior intellect of the Time Lords, the only one who showed any telepathic promise. The Gallifreyans would have killed her for it, though they suffered her father to remain among them. When she was eight, he brought her to me, so that I could raise her as a Time Lord, let her see into the Time Vortex as was her birthright. He trusted I would not kill her. Why, I don't know. He returned to the mountains, and I never saw him again. I never learned if he made it back to his people alive."

"And Susan?"

"I kept her in my rooms at first. I couldn't tell Carissa. I tested the child, and my son had been right – she was as capable as any Time Tot in the nursery, although perhaps a bit behind due to her upbringing. I knew I would never be able to slip her among the other children in the House's nursery undetected. She was eight years old. If there was any sort of chance for her to reach her potential, I had to show her the Time Vortex. And she—" The Doctor grinned, despite himself. "She loved it. She gripped my hand, and she stared forever, and turned to me, and asked when she could go inside."

The Doctor began to stroke Rose's hair. "You must understand – when I saw the Vortex, I ran. I came back, but I ran. There are those who go insane. And then there are those who remain, entranced. I knew, if Susan was so entranced, she stood a chance. So I tried to convince the professors to allow her to study with them."

"What did they say?"

The Doctor kept stroking Rose's hair, pushing it behind her ear. "What I ought to have expected. Cruel, they were. But they hadn't felt her small hand in theirs, they hadn't seen the wonder in her eyes. I went back to my rooms, put her in a basket and covered her securely, and we escaped in the Tardis. Which is over-simplifying the experience, of course, but at the end, it was myself and Susan in the Tardis, and when I finally returned to Gallifrey, it was in a different body and a different time, and most everyone had forgotten that I had tried to champion a Gallifreyan child into the House. But it didn't matter, because Susan was safe."

Rose's breathing was even, and she remained very still. "Doctor..."

"Yes?"

"What happened to her, when you returned?"

"She wasn't with me when I returned."

"Did she—"

"She'd been with me for quite some time, at least a hundred years. And like her father, she fell in love with an inappropriate mate. But this time, I did what I ought to have done before, and I let her go, unharmed, to live out her life with him."

Rose traced circles on his chest. "That's what you meant, isn't it? That you'd let me go, if it was what I wanted?"

"Yes."

"Was she happy?"

"Oh, yes. Very happy. I'm sure of it."

Rose pushed herself up to look at him. "Except she didn't have you."

"She didn't need me."

"I need you," said Rose simply, and the Doctor was momentarily at a loss for words. "I wouldn't be happy without you. I _wasn't_ happy without you. I'm sure Susan missed you her entire life, just as I'm sure that if you sent me away, I'd spend the rest of mine waiting for you to come back."

There was nothing he could say, and even if there was, he couldn't say it. His throat closed. He had waded through the worst, the most dreaded parts of what he needed to say to her, and she still sat next to him.

(Lack of door notwithstanding.)

"Rose," he said, his voice low, near straining because of the tightness in his chest, "I needed you to hear this, before I tell you what comes next—"

He didn't get the chance – from the opposite side of the room, there was a door forming in the stone. They both looked at it, the emotions from the previous minutes slipping into something akin to fear.

"Oi, they _would_ have that sort of timing," said the Doctor, suddenly snapping into his old self, and he quickly reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small device, about the size and shape of a pocket notebook.

"Where did you—"

"Hush," he said, and raised the notebook up. He flipped to a page somewhere in the middle and pressed a button on the side. Without any warning at all, a thin, shimmering field surrounded the two of them, now huddled together, just as the door to the cell materialized and swung away.

Mr. Paralogginstrainosmitt stepped through, clapping his hands. "Rose Tyler, are you ready for your next appointment – oh, bother. You were here a moment ago, I'm sure I put you in this cell. Now, Rose Tyler, where have you gone?"


	7. Cellular Disruption

**Disclaimer:** _Not mine. It's very sad, I agree. If it looks familiar, it's because it's also on LJ and Teaspoon._  
**Chapter Summary: **_Rose and the Doctor make their escape. Calling the adventure over, however, would be speaking too soon._

**A/N:** _I am so terribly sorry this took so long to update - I hope you all didn't give up on me. _Journey's End_ rather threw me for a loop. Updates will now continue on their regular every 2-3 day schedule. _

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**Chapter Seven: Cellular Disruption**

Mr. Paralogginstrainosmitt wasted no time; he immediately began examining the room, starting from the door and working his way carefully around the edges. Safe behind the protective barrier of the small black notebook, the Doctor glanced down at Rose, who was barely daring to breathe. He grazed her cheek with his finger, and apparently it was enough, because a moment later, she reopened their telepathic link, her silvery-turquoise thoughts overlapping the purple of his.

_Move._

It wasn't words exactly – their link had never worked quite in that way – but she seemed to understand. Careful to remain behind the barrier, they moved off the cot and around the opposite end of the room, away from Mr. Paralogginstrainosmitt, who kept up a running dialogue.

"Now, Rose Tyler, so clever, how did you escape, how did you escape, oh so clever, we'll have to talk about this too, fear in the hearts of Daleks and now this! I'm quite impressed, really, and that takes a good deal, now, look here!"

The Doctor and Rose, nearly at the door, froze, and watched as Mr. Paralogginstrainosmitt laid his hand on the cot. He began to dance.

"Still warm, you aren't so far gone! You're about and about somewhere, you are, in fact I think you might be—" Mr. Paralogginstrainosmitt whirled around and in his hands was a little black notebook as well. The barrier between them shuddered, and blinked out. "There you are!" he sang. "Found you, Rose Tyler!"

"So you did," said Rose weakly.

"Can't pull the wool over your eyes," said the Doctor cheerfully. "Well, stone, perhaps." He shoved Rose out the door and leapt after her. He flipped to another page in the notebook, pressing a button. The door winked back into existence. "That ought to hold him for a moment."

"Where did you get that thing?" asked Rose from the floor.

"No questions, love, time to run now," said the Doctor, pulling her up, and no sooner had they turned the corner at the end of the hall, but they heard Mr. Paralogginstrainosmitt's cheerful and angry voice behind them.

"_Rose Tyler! We'd like a word with you!_"

"Remind me never to become famous," gasped Rose. The Doctor kept running, flipping pages in the notebook as he looked for something. "And you didn't say what _that_ is."

"Cellular disrupter," explained the Doctor absently. "Quite clever, really, little descriptions on each page, and you press the button when you're at the page you want, and _ah_, this will do quite nicely."

He came screeching to a halt and turned around just as Mr. Paralogginstrainosmitt appeared around the corner. The little blue man's face lit up when he saw them.

"Ah, there you are," he said quite cheerfully. "Off to lecture, Rose Tyler, and we'll settle with your friend, no worries there."

"Think not," replied the Doctor, and pressed the button. Mr. Paralogginstrainosmitt stopped in his tracks, and looked down at his body, which was beginning to fade.

"Oh, dear," he said with a sigh. "Page 372, was it?" He began moving again, and Rose instantly jerked back, but the Doctor didn't budge.

"Thought it would do," said the Doctor.

Mr. Paralogginstrainosmitt stood beside them now; he reached out as if to grab them, but his arm, completely transparent, went straight through them.

"My contribution as well," he said, still managing to sound glum in his cheer. "Quite appropriate, good fellow. I'm glad you're finding the disrupter useful."

"Oh, very."

"We do have a more updated model, with another five hundred pages, if you would be so interested?"

The Doctor's ears perked up. "Another five hundred pages?"

"Doctor," Rose interrupted. "Run?"

"Oh, yes, sorry." The Doctor grabbed her hand and they continued down the hall, leaving Mr. Paralogginstrainosmitt behind.

"I'm sure we could make you an excellent bargain!" he shouted, and kept jogging after them.

A few minutes later, they skid to another halt, where the hallways diverged into two. "Don't suppose there's a map in there?" gasped Rose, leaning over.

"Probably one of the other 500 functions," said the Doctor. "Oh, look, it works as a compatible screen to my sonic screwdriver, now, _that's_ clever, I could use that."

"Does your screwdriver have a map in it?"

"Ah, Rose, don't be silly."

"_Doctor_, which way do we go?"

The Doctor cocked his head towards one hallway, motioning her to be quiet. He listened for a moment, and then turned to the other and did the same. "This way," he said confidently.

"Are you sure?"

He grabbed her hand and ran, since that was faster than talking. Within minutes, they had reached the landing bay, and the Tardis in the center of it, still surrounded by the black obelisks. The Doctor stopped near one.

"I believe these obelisks may be what's dampening the Tardis's travel circuitry," he said, flipping in the notebook. "If we could disrupt them – run inside, Rose, and check the screen – when everything comes online, it'll tell you."

She did, and just as she dashed into the doors, he grinned. "Ready, Rose?"

"Offline!" she shouted.

"Not for long!" He pressed the button.

"Still offline!"

The Doctor frowned. "Now, that ought to have worked, this should have reduced the obelisk to dust. All right, next page – no, no, no, _yes_. ALL RIGHT, ROSE?"

"Still offline!"

"Oh, for—" He kept flipping. "All right, Rose?"

She stormed out of the Tardis then, marched over to the obelisk, gave it a cursory once over, and suddenly bent down and slammed her hand onto the very base.

The Tardis whirred to life, and the Doctor stared at her, mouth open.

"I turned it off," she said, irritated. "_Honestly_, if you'd taken a minute to read the _directions_."

"Directions?" he squeaked.

She pointed at the etchings along the edges of the obelisk. As soon as he put on his glasses, he saw letters – words – _directions_. "Off switch located at base of column," he read aloud.

"Doctor," said Rose. "Run now?"

"Well, I wear _glasses_ to read!" he argued, and followed her into the Tardis. "You can't expect me to read little black words on tall black obelisks without someone telling me to put them on!"

"Oh, those glasses are only for show," said Rose. "Can we go now?"

Within minutes, they were in the Vortex, back to the same routine of trying to keep the ship together as they sailed through time. It left very little breath for conversation, and as soon as they'd landed, the Doctor took Rose's hand.

"What did you tell them? When they asked how you defeated the Daleks?"

"I didn't say anything about the Tardis."

"I know," he said calmly, "or it would never have been left unguarded. Which makes me wonder what it is you did say."

"I told them I waved my hand, and the Daleks turned to dust. And that they were startled that I could do it – and later, when I saw them again, they were so surprised that I had been able to turn them to dust – me, just me, not even you – they were shocked. And then they died."

"Skipped a bit, there."

"Yeah," she admitted, grinning. "Couldn't exactly disillusion Mr. Para-whatsit that I had _help_ on the second go."

"No," he grinned, and just as quickly frowned. "Wait – you told him – you _scared_ the Daleks?"

"To death, essentially," said Rose, and the Doctor rushed to the console screen, typing a few things before his eyes went wide.

"Oh. Well, that explains it. Rose, you're getting a reputation."

"Sorry?"

"When I was in the Deathsmith's testing facility, I noticed their next prototype – a robot-type figure, more of an android, really. Apparently it will be used to house their next invention, and the intent was to give it whatever ability you were able to provide."

Rose sat on the jump seat with a thump. "I told them I'd scared the Daleks to death."

"Yep."

"But – you can't actually _scare_ someone to death…can you?"

"That's what destroyed the Deathsmiths, about a hundred years after we left them," said the Doctor, reading the screen. "Their last invention – the Apocalypse Device, turned on them. Scared to death by their own creation…which you suggested."

Rose clutched the edge of the seat. "I think I might be sick. They were _sweet_."

"Rose, they locked us in a stone-lined cell, would very likely have kept us there until we'd told them everything we ever knew, and probably would have killed us in the end by testing their new toy on us. And lest you forget, no tea."

"But that's two entire species I've helped to destroy!" wailed Rose. "And this time, I can't even say I _had_ help! They're going to start calling _me_ the Destroyer!"

"The Oncoming Rainshower?" suggested the Doctor.

"How can you be so flippant about this?"

"Because it was the Deathsmiths of Goth," said the Doctor, suddenly harsh. "Hardly one of the world's most benevolent group of scientists. You did notice, Rose, that most of the inventions they had there weren't terribly fuzzy. They involve pain and entrapment, with a hefty dose of death as the ultimate goal."

"But – you didn't kill Mr. Paralogginstrainosmitt," said Rose. "You just sort of – turned him into a ghost."

"And I'm not all that certain he'll be able to turn back. I didn't see a reversal. We were running for our lives, Rose, and I have no doubt that if he'd caught up to us, he would have taken you away and that would have been the last we saw of each other."

Rose laid her hands on his chest. "They gave the Daleks their weapons."

He exhaled. "Yes."

"Tell me what you did back there – it wasn't revenge."

"No," he said. "But I can't say I don't have a certain perverse pleasure in the fact that you brought down their entire civilization."

She wrapped her fingers around his coat lapels and shook them, thumping him lightly. He watched her, warily – Rose's moral fiber was full of the shades of grey of the universe; his less so, and he wasn't sure what'd she think of this.

"You _are_ merciless, in this body," she said finally. "I always knew, but – I don't expect it. Times like this, I can't help but remember—" She bit her lip.

"Before I changed?" he filled in. She nodded. "Same man, me. Just a different aspect. Lucky thing about regeneration, every bit of my personality gets the spotlight at least once."

"I like this one," said Rose. "Well, not the merciless bit. But on the whole, it'll do."

"Good," he said, resting his hands on hers. They stood for a moment, smiling faintly at each other, before he broke into a grin. "Now – Shakespeare?"

Rose grinned at him. "We've set up another species to annihilate themselves, and you're ready for the next adventure?"

"Aren't you?"

She sighed. "You're hoping to distract me with Shakespeare."

"Will it work?"

"It might."

"Wardrobe," he replied cheerfully. "Holler if you need help with the corset."

"Cheeky Time Lord," she said, and was tripping down the ramp when the Tardis bells began to ring. "Oh – Doctor – the crossroads are ready. Let me call my mum before we go? Just in case we take a bit longer than expected."

The Doctor stared at the console, frowning. "That's odd. She just sent photographs this morning, your mum – the crossroads shouldn't be ready until tomorrow at the earliest. How long _were_ we in that cell?"

Rose had already settled herself on the jump seat and was dialing her superphone. The Doctor had thought she would go somewhere else to make the call, and as much as he didn't want to intrude on her conversation (or risk Jackie wanting to talk to him), he also didn't want to leave the console room. He crouched behind the console, opposite Rose, and began to fiddle with the circuitry.

"Mum!" said Rose. "We've had _such_ an adventure, but imagine where we are now?"

The Doctor couldn't hear Jackie, but he wouldn't have been surprised if the response had involved chapels and tuxes and flowers.

"Elizabethan England, unless the Doctor's misdirected us again."

"Oi!" he shouted indignantly, and Rose laughed.

"Yes, that's him. We're in the console room. I can hear you perfectly, Mum, I don't think the connection's ever been this clear, and you just sent me those photos of Molly and Donald in school uniform. Have they started yet?"

Blue wire to the green wire, cross the yellow wire under, where was his sonic screwdriver….

"Oh." Rose's voice was suddenly strained, and the Doctor held still, listening again. "I didn't realize the pictures were two months old already."

His head hit the console on his way up, and nearly knocked him back down. When he managed to stand up (head ringing), Rose was looking at him, her eyes wide with fear.

"Oh, I'm sure they've having a splendid time, they're both so quick," Rose said. Her voice was still frantic, and the Doctor walked around the console and leaned against it opposite her.

"Mickey?" she continued, brow furrowing. "No, of course, I haven't spoken to him in ages. If you give me his mobile, I'll ring him in a – oh. He is? I – I suppose that's all right, Mum, but it's giving up a little time with you. Of course, I'll ring you in a few days, when it's safe. Love you, mum, Pete and twins too."

_Mickey_? mouthed the Doctor, and Rose was able to nod before she began speaking again. He marveled at the way she managed to keep her voice light and cheerful, even if her face was drawn and worried.

"Hullo, Mickey. I think I know why the blue box was humming."

Something in Rose's expression shifted, and she slowly pulled the phone from her ear.

"He wants me to put him on speakerphone," she said, and pressed the proper button. "Mickey? Can you hear us?"

"Is the Doctor there?" Mickey Smith's voice had changed, the Doctor noted – authoritative, strong, and almost demanding.

"Hello, Mickey," he said. "Saved the world today?"

"Twice," said Mickey. "You?"

"Oh, same. Rose did her bit too. She tells me you're quite the important man there."

"Doctor, I have a question and I would appreciate an honest answer."

"No pleasantries with you, are there?"

"Is it correct that four years ago you pulled Rose Tyler from the blue box in the Torchwood Tower Storage basement, a year after you saw her in Norway?"

The Doctor locked eyes with Rose, who was suddenly going pale.

"Ah – yes. I believe that is correct."

"Then why—" There was a pause, and they heard Mickey swallow. "Explain to me, then, Doctor, why I remember Rose being in this world for five years, and she didn't leave to join you until yesterday?"


	8. Choices Made

**Disclaimer:** _Not mine. It's very sad, I agree. If it looks familiar, it's because it's also on LJ and Teaspoon._  
**Chapter Summary: **_The Doctor and Rose need Jack, probably more than they realize – Jack, after all, is the only one who can save the Doctor from his best (if stupid) intentions._

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**Chapter Eight: Choices Made**

Mickey's voice was tinny over the faint sound of background static over Rose's mobile. "Doctor, you there? Why do I remember Rose being here for four more years than everyone says she really was?"

The Doctor couldn't answer. He stared at the phone, utterly and completely stunned, until he realized that he'd spent a great deal of time in the last 24 hours stunned into silence. The shame this produced made him speak, more than even the sick look on Rose's face.

"Mickey – tell me what you remember. What you actually remember, not what you think you do or what Jackie says."

"I remember Rose Tyler coming to work for Torchwood, and being here for five years. Three days ago, the blue box in the storage room, which has been sitting there for five years, began to hum. It's hummed only once before, four years ago for half a day. No one knows where it came from or what it does, but yesterday I sent Rose to examine it, and she disappeared."

"This is the box only you and she and Jackie can see?"

The line crackled. "Yes. I assume Rose told you that?"

"Mickey, what is the box doing now?"

"It's quiet. Hasn't hummed in a day."

"You're sure?"

"I'm standing next to it, of course I'm sure."

"That explains the strength of the connection. Mickey, did you – when you've been near the box – did you touch it in any way? Did any part of you come in contact with it?"

Rose gasped, and shoved the phone at the Doctor. He barely had time to catch it before she flew down the ramp and into the Tardis corridors. He would have followed her, but Mickey kept talking, and somehow he didn't think it wise to go after her just yet.

"Doctor, did you have something to do with this box? What did you do? When did you take Rose Tyler and why am I the only one who remembers her being here for four extra years? This is no longer funny, Doctor, and I want an explanation, _now_, or so help me I'll throw this blasted box off the Tower Bridge, promise or no, Jackie Tyler or no!"

The Doctor's hearts fell with a thud. "Is Jackie in the room with you?"

"What kind of answer—"

"_Answer the question_."

There was a brief pause. "No. She left when I took the phone."

"Good. What I'm about to tell you, Mickey Smith who is not and never has been an idiot, cannot be told to Jackie Tyler. Ever. Do I have your word?"

"You have it. I'm the only one listening to this conversation."

"When I pulled Rose through the box, one year had passed since we said goodbye in Norway."

"But—"

"One year, Mickey – for me. It was five years for Rose."

There was such a long silence, the Doctor was afraid the connection had been broken. "Five years?"

"Rose was lost to me for one year, but to her, I was lost for five. When I pulled her back, I – I collapsed the time frames. I erased four years from your world, for everyone except Rose herself, who remembers them perfectly, and apparently, for you. I don't know why you remember them when everyone else has forgotten. But I assume they returned yesterday?"

"They did." Mickey's voice was thick and heavy, and the Doctor hoped he was sitting down.

"The day she disappeared," mused the Doctor. "We knew it was coming up, but I didn't think anyone would take notice. Except you did. And I don't know why."

"Doctor," said Mickey. "What is the blue box?"

"A crossroads. A point in time at which someone made a decision. I reversed the decision."

Rose burst into the console room, clutching a piece of paper. "Doctor," she gasped. "Mickey. The test results, I have them."

"Rose, it's a little late for those," said Mickey, somewhat annoyed, but the Doctor had shoved the phone back at Rose and snatched the results out of her hands. He stared at them, his eyes growing wide.

"Mickey," he said, his voice oddly high. "These test results, did you look at them before giving them to Rose?"

"Of course I did."

"And – by any chance – did you happen to _bleed_ on them?"

There was a longer pause. "I…did. Paper cut."

The Doctor looked from the phone to Rose, whose eyes were still wide, whose chest still heaved.

"Then I think I know why you remember the last four years, Mickey boy. Part of you came with Rose back to me."

"That's the thing, Doctor," said Mickey, and the line cracked again. "I don't just remember the four years Rose was here. I remember the four years she wasn't. I didn't at first, they only came back a day ago. But they're getting just as strong as the memories of her being here. I've got four years of memories fighting each other in my head, Doctor – and it's killing me."

Rose inhaled sharply, and the Doctor caught her quick glance towards the Tardis console. "What do you mean, killing you?"

"I've been having blackouts, Doctor. Ever since Rose disappeared. The first time, Jake was with me, and he took me to hospital, and they did a scan. My brain's so active, it glows red on the charts. Brains aren't meant to do this much work, Doctor. I'm dying."

Rose covered her mouth with her hand, eyes screwing shut, but the Doctor had to know. The connection was growing steadily worse, and he ripped the phone from Rose's hands and held it close to his mouth.

"How long?"

"They don't know."

The line dissolved into static.

Rose collapsed on the floor, her arms wrapped around her body. "No, no, no, no," she sobbed, and the Doctor flipped the phone closed and crouched down to hold her.

"Shhh – it's all right, Rose."

"It's _killing_ him."

"It's not the Vortex, Rose – it's not like Bad Wolf. It can be fixed."

"How?" she sobbed.

"I'll fix it, Rose. I promise."

She looked up at him, her eyes already growing red. "How? You can't very well kiss it out of him, can you?"

"We're going to Canary Wharf," he told her, brushing her hair back from her face. "We're going to find the crossroads, and we're going to make Mickey well."

"How?"

"But first," said the Doctor, unwilling to answer the question, "we're going to find Jack."

Rose sniffed, giving him a look he'd come to recognize as assessment. "Okay."

"You don't have to agree so quickly."

"I haven't seen him since you booted him off the Tardis for trying to seduce her."

"She's _my_ ship. And he was going to try to seduce you next, which I won't allow, either."

Rose's voice was quiet. "Oh? What am I of yours, then?"

The Doctor held her gaze for a moment, and then kissed her forehead gently before standing and returning to the console, folding the test results and shoving them in his breast pocket. He couldn't answer her. It wasn't his to say, but surely she knew that – and anyway, he had to hurry. They had to be ready when it was time to call Mickey Smith again. Whatever had become of him in Pete's world, the Doctor somehow had an idea that Mickey was not one to take excuses for long.

* * *

"You know, I was perfectly happy," Jack said as the three of them were sifting through the rubble of Torchwood Tower. "I was warm, I was naked, I was with the most beautiful set of twins ever to grace the Andromeda system…."

"I told you, I'll take you back to the same place five minutes after you left."

"They'll have found someone else by then. You don't get a second chance with those twins."

"I'm sure you'll find another set. And just because you're naked doesn't give you any excuse to kiss Rose. In fact, it gives you multiple excuses _not_ to kiss Rose."

"I didn't see her arguing."

"Because she couldn't _talk_, you nitwit. _Quit kissing my Rose_."

Jack gave him a suggestive grin, and the Doctor barely resisted the urge to throw the nearest rock at his head.

"So I'm your Rose now?"

The Doctor straightened instantly, and turned to the girl behind him. "Ah – yes?"

She narrowed her eyes at him thoughtfully, and then shrugged. "Suppose that settles it then. Help me move this piece of concrete?"

"Ah – I did mean to ask you first. I don't want to claim you if you'd rather not be claimed."

"Shut up and lift."

It took them the better part of the afternoon to clear enough of the rubble away before the Doctor was able to use his sonic screwdriver to better determine where the crossroads waited. While he scanned the area, Rose and Jack sat nearby and watched.

"Rose, I have to ask—"

"No, Jack, I'm not letting you kiss me again. It just makes him lose concentration."

"No, not that. Are you feeling all right?"

Rose stared at him. "I – I don't think anyone's asked me that in months."

"I haven't seen you in months. I worry."

She smiled at him. "Jack, I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I feel perfectly well, except for a bit of frustration in pinstripes."

"He doesn't just wear pinstripes anymore."

"And good thing, too, but I can't help but think of him in them, that's all."

Jack studied her. "Not out of them?"

She blushed and began picking at her jeans. "No."

"Why not?"

"Awfully rude, even for you, Jack."

"He loves you, you know."

She glanced up at him. "I know. I just wonder if he knows it."

"Oh, he does."

"Then maybe he doesn't believe it," said Rose. "If he keeps trying to send me away, I just might take him up on it."

This troubled Jack more than he was willing to admit. "Rose—"

"Look, he's got it, come on."

The Doctor had stopped at the far end of the destruction, and as soon as they joined him, he kicked at a nearby rock. "Right here," he said, pointing down. "About ten meters or so, and that's where it is."

"Great," said Jack. "Then what?"

"We—" The Doctor frowned. "I have no idea."

"You're playing it by ear again," said Rose, somewhat accusatory, but he couldn't bring himself to reply.

"The way I see it," said Jack, "there's two things you can do. You can either bring Mickey over here, or you can leave him there."

"If we leave him there, he'll die," said Rose heatedly.

"And if I bring him over here, I risk collapsing time again," said the Doctor.

"All right," said Jack. "Then you don't have any options at all. Why are we here again?"

The Doctor pointed at the ground. "Dig."

* * *

It was hard work, digging, and while ten meters didn't sound like much, it might as well have been twice that when one was attempting to move slabs of concrete and mismatched rubble, particularly after the first seven meters, when the Doctor decided it best to no longer use the cellular disrupter to make things lighter, for fear of harming the crossroads.

What surprised the Doctor the most, however, was that Rose never complained, not even when her fingers bled from scraping them against the concrete; or when she jammed her elbow into a piece of metal siding, or when she slid down the hole and nearly twisted her knee. Jack had to pull her out of the hole and carry her to some nearby rocks, where he let the Doctor to live up to his title.

"Are you all right?" the Doctor asked her as he scanned her with the sonic screwdriver.

"You're the one with the screwdriver."

"Not what I meant." He rested his hand on her other knee and glanced up at her, sorely tempted to touch her cheek, but afraid of what he'd find – worse, afraid she would refuse. Rose's gaze seemed to be focused squarely on the hole, where they could hear Jack swearing and grunting as he kept working.

"It's my fault."

"No, Rose," he said firmly. "It's not your fault."

"I should have dropped the stupid test results. If I'd dropped them, then he wouldn't be half here and half there – he'd be okay."

"You didn't know. And what if you'd dropped them in the blue custard? He'd probably be dead already. We have a chance to save him."

She was about to speak, but bit her tongue and shook her head.

"Rose, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—"

"You always say that," she said softly. "Do you know what it means?"

He sat back, watching her.

"Doctor – what happens when we find the crossroads?"

"Mickey is split between here and there," said the Doctor, trying to keep his voice even, scared to death about what Rose was thinking. "Even that little bit of blood – it's important to him. It's part of him. If we reunite the pieces of him – just put them both in the same world – he'll be fine."

"He won't want to come here," said Rose. "He's got a life there, his grandmother. He's a better man there. I can't see him wanting to come here. He doesn't have anything here."

"He'd have you."

Rose shook her head. "How's my knee?"

He glanced at the screwdriver. "It's fine. No twist, no sprain."

"Then I'm going to go back to digging."

It took another three hours to finish the dig, and at the very end, it was the humming which drew them to the crossroads. Once unearthed, it was undamaged, just as bright a blue as Rose and the Doctor remembered, but no longer quite as tempting to touch. In fact, they both felt a strong sense of dislike, as if the crossroads was repelling them away.

"Is that it?" asked Jack. "Awfully blue, isn't it?"

"You can see it?" asked the Doctor.

"Not like I'm of this world, either."

"I can see it," said Rose. "And I'm back where I belong."

"But not the same," said the Doctor thoughtfully. "And the humming?" They both nodded, and the Doctor glanced at Rose.

"Try Mickey's mobile."

Rose pulled out her mobile, shaking. "It's too soon. We should have to wait for at least another day."

"We're next to the crossroads, Rose. I suspect the connection will be enough for a quick call to ensure he's there – and ask what he wants to do."

She glanced up at him. "I told you—"

"It's still his choice."

Rose dialed her mobile and switched it to speakerphone. Mickey answered halfway through the first ring. The connection was mostly clear, but there was still crackling noises over the line.

"Mickey," said the Doctor, "I know how to save your life but you must make a choice. You can stay in your world, or – you can cross as Rose did into ours."

The line crackled. "Not much of a choice," said Mickey, and he coughed. Rose winced, and though the Doctor saw it, he didn't react. "I thought it'd involve something more fatal."

"Oh, right, forgot to mention that. Might cause some more temporal fluctuation. And someone will either die or be irrevocably altered. Might be you, might be someone else. Depends on which way you go. That better?"

"Who?"

"Shouldn't change your answer."

There was more crackling. "I'm not going to live if Rose is hurt saving me."

"Good man," said the Doctor, swallowing. "She won't be hurt. Which way, Mickey? There isn't a lot of time."

Mickey laughed, but it was hollow. "You're telling me, Time Lord? Fine. I stay here. I have a life here. I'm not going back."

"Told you," said Rose quietly.

The Doctor closed his eyes and smiled. "Rose knew," he said to Mickey. "Watch the blue box, Mickey. Whatever you see come out of it, you grab on and hold tight. Wear something to cover your skin – you mustn't let your skin touch the box or whatever comes out of it, not while it's coated in the blue custard, you got that?"

"Yeah," said Mickey, and he coughed again. "Doctor—"

"Someone will ring you after," the Doctor continued. "Good luck." He took the mobile from Rose then and snapped it closed before putting it in his pocket. "Rose, do you have the paper?"

Rose pulled the paper from her pocket, wrapped up in several layers of plastic. "How will we get it to him?"

The Doctor took a breath. "You're going to take it."

Rose blinked. "What?"

"Doctor," said Jack.

But Rose was still speaking. "But – you said you wouldn't send me away again. You said you'd keep me near. You _said_."

"We were in a jail cell with no hope of escape," said the Doctor, without looking at her. "That's different now. I'm sending you home."

"_I am home_."

"You don't honestly think I believe that? Rose, I watch. You call your mother the first moment the Tardis says it's safe. You watch the photos she sends you over and over. You agonize over every day you don't live with them, even though you've lived these days once already. What happens now, Rose, that they're starting the parts of their lives you haven't seen in person? You aren't going to be there when Molly and Donald finish their schooling or fall in love or get married. You won't be there to hold your mother's hand if she gets ill, if Pete dies before she does."

He turned to look at her then, right into her eyes. "You won't be able to bury her, Rose. What happens the day you ring Jackie and she's not there to answer? Because it'll happen, Rose, and the way time isn't balanced, it'll happen much sooner than it would if you were there. This is your chance, Rose – you've had another year with me, and you have a chance to go back to your life and pick it up where you left off, and never miss a single moment. You may never get this chance again, and I won't have you regret not taking it."

Rose's chest was heaving. "You – you're sending me away. Just like that? Why haven't you already tossed me in, then? You should have done – you like to _think_ you're giving me a choice, aren't you, letting me decide to go blithely into the crossroads without looking back? Well, _I can't_. I don't _care_ if you never actually ask me what I want to do, if I want to run around the universe and pretend I'm nineteen or if I'd like to grow old and gray beside you. I've told you a thousand times that I made my choice long ago – why don't you believe me already?"

"Just – _go_, Rose," said the Doctor through gritted teeth.

"Why did you bring me here if it's just to push me back _there_ again?" shouted Rose.

"Because I'm a selfish old fool!" he shouted back. "And I've nearly killed you and Mickey both because of it! I'm lucky I only caused a time collapse and didn't destroy the universe to boot! It's time for me to stop being selfish, Rose, and do the right thing, and the right thing to do is to give Mickey back his life and to give you to Jackie like I promised her!"

"My mother doesn't need me!"

"You need her!"

"_I need you_."

"I need—" The Doctor caught himself before he said it, the word stuck in his throat, and for a moment he thought Rose would take the chance and dive headfirst into the crossroads.

Jack moved faster than either of them, yanking the plastic package from Rose's hand. He took the Doctor's hand with the other, stepping right to his face and glaring at him in the eyes.

"You're an idiot. Don't let go of me," he said calmly, and without another word, jumped into the crossroads, until the only thing left visible was his hand, which held onto the Doctor tightly, pulling him along the gravel towards the crossroads.

Rose screamed, and sprung into action, grabbing onto the Doctor's coat and pulling him back, and she was just heavy enough to slow his slide. The Doctor stopped with the toes of his shoes just at the edge of the crossroads.

"Jack," sobbed Rose. "_Doctor_, don't let go."

"I'm holding," gasped the Doctor as he slid a little closer to the crossroads, squeezing Jack's hand for dear life.


	9. Chances Given

**Disclaimer:** _Not mine. It's very sad, I agree. If it looks familiar, it's because it's also on LJ and Teaspoon._  
**Chapter Summary: **_Mickey learns to let go._

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Chances Given**

Mickey was exhausted. He hadn't been able to sleep in the three days since Rose had disappeared – or not disappeared. He hadn't been able to drink much, and eating wasn't even a possibility. His head throbbed, he was feverish but freezing, and when the Doctor had ended the already tenuous mobile connection with a click and not static, Mickey knew he didn't have much longer to live.

He sat in Room Negative 27 in Torchwood Tower, huddled under blankets but still shivering, and stared at the blue box in the center of the room.

Mickey hadn't even entertained the thought of going back to the other world, really. There wasn't any point. Rita-Anne's memory was failing her, and she needed him more than ever. Torchwood was nearly dependant on him to run smoothly – who knew what was happening upstairs in his illness. And he'd found himself strangely connected to Jake, even if the bond was not quite what Jake and Ricky had had before.

Plus – there was this girl—

But wasn't there always?

Mickey stared at the blue box for so long, he almost thought the hand that emerged was a mirage. It took him a moment before he realized it wasn't, and quick as a flash, pulled the top part of the protection suit on to cover his hands. He grabbed the hand with both of his, felt the fingers close, and he _pulled_.

"Ow," said the head as it appeared, and Mickey almost let go. "Don't let go, you idiot, I'll snap right back before you can take it."

Mickey stared at the man sticking partially out of the blue box. All he could see of him was most of his upper torso, save for his second arm and shoulder. The man was coated in blue custard, but he was still grinning widely. He looked vaguely familiar, but Mickey wasn't sure why.

"Who are you?"

"Captain Jack Harkness – guess we only met the once, didn't we? Cardiff?"

"Yeah," said Mickey, staring at him. "What's going on?"

"In my shirt pocket, there's a plastic package. Hold onto me with one hand and fish it out with the other."

Mickey did, though the custard made it slippery. He tossed the package to the other side of the room and grabbed Jack with both hands again.

"Okay, Mickey, I don't have much longer," said Jack. "Not before the Doctor and Rose decide I'm not worth it and let me go. You know what this box is, don't you?"

"No," mumbled Mickey, staring at Jack. His head was starting to clear now, though it still throbbed somewhat.

"It's a crossroads, Mickey-Mick. The Doctor thinks it results from a choice made, but you know what? I don't think he's right. I think it's a chance given. It's the road not taken, not the road you weren't allowed down in the first place. Not that I know where it came from either, but I'm not going to argue. There's a reason I'm the only one who could bring your life back to you, Mickey, and whatever the Doctor says to you when that phone rings, you tell him no."

"No?"

"Just because he's the Doctor doesn't mean he knows what's good for him. He nearly sent Rose Tyler back here, Mickey, despite his promises. She keeps telling him she'll stay, he keeps sending her away. Don't you let him, Mickey Smith."

"If he keeps trying to get rid of her, maybe I _should_ let him," said Mickey, and Jack glared.

"One and the same, aren't you? Trying to keep her safe from herself. You know as well as I do, it's Rose and the Doctor. She figured it out, I figured it out – and you figured it out, too, or you did, when your head wasn't full of extra memories." Mickey's grip slipped, and Jack slid a little back into the box. "Dammit, they're getting leverage on me. How do you feel, Mickey?"

"Better," said Mickey. "Head's clearing up. I still remember, though."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I don't know if your memory will right itself or not."

"I don't want it to," said Mickey. "I have four extra years of Rose. I'm not giving those up without a fight."

Jack smiled, almost wistful. "Lucky bastard. Better let go, Mickey."

But Mickey held on. "Tell Rose—"

"Yeah?"

"Tell her thanks."

Jack grinned.

When Mickey let go, Jack snapped back into the box, its features smoothing over as if he'd never been there. The moment Jack had disappeared, the humming stopped, and the room fell quiet. Mickey stared at the box for a moment – the crossroads, he figured he ought to call it – before carefully pulling off the protective jacket. He found a metal storage container, and set the jacket inside, checking to make sure the custard didn't want to eat through the sides, but it appeared to remain stable. He used a pair of gloves and a knife to cut open the plastic package, and inside, found the blood-stained copy of the test results.

He exhaled slowly, and dropped the rest of the custard-covered items in the box, which he sealed carefully and shoved into the corner of the room. He held onto the paper for a moment, staring at it, unable to decide what to do with it. Three drops of blood – that was all. Three drops of blood had nearly killed him.

Three drops of blood, and four years of memories with Rose that were still tucked in his brain, no longer painful, no longer throbbing, just sitting, waiting to be accessed and treasured.

Mickey patted his pockets and found an empty envelope, left over from the tickets to The 39 Steps, which he had seen with Jake, or maybe he'd seen it with Rose. It didn't matter. He folded the test results and slid the paper inside, and left the envelope on the metal box before leaving the room and locking it securely behind him.

The reward, he figured, was worth every drop of the price.

* * *

The Doctor called a day later. Mickey was walking down the Embankment towards Torchwood Tower, and though he had been expecting the call, it still took him by surprise.

"Mickey the idiot! How's your head?"

"Fine," said Mickey. "The doctors don't know what happened – they said whatever brain fever I had is gone entirely."

"Fantastic," said the Doctor, obviously pleased. "And the memories?"

"Still there. They're not fading – I don't think I'm going to lose them."

"Sorry about that."

"Don't be," said Mickey. "I'm not. Did Jack make it back all right?"

A brief pause, but the Doctor sounded chipper when he replied. "Oh, Jack. Can't kill Jack, you know. He's fine. He's tucked up in bed in the Tardis medical bay, but I think he's living it up because he likes Rose to play nurse. Clucking over him like a mother hen, she is."

"Did the same to me," said Mickey. "You?"

"Oh, I don't get sick, me. Time Lord."

"Not even the common cold."

"Course not, it's common."

Mickey snorted. "You can tell Rose the crossroads are safe on this side – I'm the only one with the key to that room. She doesn't need to worry."

"Ta, Mickey, I'll tell her, she'll be glad to hear it, but she trusts you, she does. I don't think she doubted you for a second."

"I don't doubt her either," said Mickey, and there was an even longer pause. "Doctor?"

"Yeah, I'm here," said the Doctor, but his voice was muffled. "Here, Mickey, you do me a favor. You keep an eye on Jackie Tyler for me, yeah? If there's any reason you think that Rose ought to – you get her to tell Rose to tell me that you've got a question. And I'll ring you, and—"

Mickey stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "Doctor. No."

For a moment, Mickey could only hear the crackle on the line. "No?"

"No," said Mickey. The words flowed out of him easily, as though he hadn't spent the last day worrying about what lies he would tell. "Rose can't come back here. The crossroads – it's not stable. Not that stable, anyway. We've managed to get successful tests on it, Doctor. If anyone gets close to it, it starts to – well, fade."

"Oh." There was more crackling, but the Doctor's voice got stronger. "Oh. Well. You still let me know. I'll bring Rose to our crossroads, so they can talk longer, since that seems to improve the connection."

"Yeah," said Mickey. "I can do that."

"Good man."

"Learned from the best."

The crackling intensified. "Better ring off, so Rose can call Jackie tomorrow," said the Doctor suddenly. "Have a fantastic life, Mickey Smith."

"You too," said Mickey, and slid the mobile back in his pocket. He stared out at the Thames for a minute, watching the waves lap against the shore, and picked a memory from the back of his mind. Rose on a summer day, sitting on the banks of the Thames while Molly and Donald, age three, raced along to pick up bits of ceramic and lyme. He'd gone with them and sat next to Rose, pretended for a half a minute that Rose and the twins were his, and it had been a good day.

Mickey set the memory back into place, turned from the river, and walked on.


	10. Conversation, End

**Disclaimer:** _Not mine. It's very sad, I agree. If it looks familiar, it's because it's also on LJ and Teaspoon._  
**Chapter Summary: **_The Doctor finishes his conversation with Rose. Finally. And without interruptions. But that's just the beginning._

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Conversation, End**

The Doctor leaned against the doorframe to the medical bay, watching Rose by Jack's bedside. They'd cleaned Jack up, popped him into a bed, and now the Tardis was floating in orbit off Saturn. The moment Jack had entered the medical bay, the nanogenes had popped out of the walls and set to work, enveloping him in a fog of gold as they had done with Rose and the Doctor a year before. Afterwards, the Doctor had measured Jack's vitals, taken his blood, collected additional samples of the blue custard (just in case), and now Rose held Jack's hand, brushing the hair back from his forehead, quietly whispering to him as he slept. She looked infinitely tender and caring then, leaning over Jack's bedside. It made him wish he'd been the one to leap into the crossroads, if she would do the same for him. It wasn't jealousy exactly – but some sort of yearning that she'd show him the same care. The Doctor felt still and quiet, and it took him a moment to realize the feelings weren't exactly his own, but more the reflection of the Tardis herself, who was prodding him in the back of his mind.

_Hush_, he thought at the ship, and the doorframe, though solid, seemed to give him a shove towards Rose. He went, not the least because he didn't care to argue with the ship, but he wanted to be closer to her anyway. He stopped on the opposite side of Jack's bed.

"How is he?"

"Asleep. I've checked him over three times, no blue custard residue at all. Thank you for helping me with that." Rose didn't meet his gaze, and her voice was too low for him to pick up on anything else but the words.

"Of course." He hesitated. "Rose—"

"Did you ring Mickey?"

"Yes. He's fine. He still remembers the four years with you, but he said the doctors have given him a clean bill of health. He – he said to tell you thanks."

Rose shut her eyes and closed her mouth tight for a moment, and then let out a breath. "Not like I did anything to save him. But he'll live? Good."

"Rose, we need to talk."

"No, we don't."

"Yes, we do. I have to explain what happened—"

"Nothing to explain, Doctor, you're just being you," Rose said briskly, pulled the covers tighter around Jack.

"I have to finish telling you what I was trying to explain before, Rose."

"Lower your voice, Jack's sleeping."

He lowered his voice, but it only made him sound angrier and more insistent. "Rose, come to the garden with me."

"Someone has to watch over Jack."

"Jack doesn't need watching. He's eternal, he'll be fine."

"He could wake up, and he'd be alone."

"He's going to sleep for three more hours, and this won't take that long."

Her breath caught. "Oh, is that it? You're going to drop me off somewhere in less than three hours, and not even let me say goodbye to Jack? I don't think so."

"I'm not dropping you anywhere, I'm just trying to finish a conversation!"

"I'm staying with Jack until he wakes up!"

"Jack doesn't need you weeping at his bedside!"

"Who's weeping? I'm just making sure he sleeps well!"

"He's sleeping fine! Rose, we have to talk!"

"Not until Jack wakes up!"

"Oh, Rosie, would you just go with the Doctor and let me sleep?" said Jack, and both the Doctor and Rose stared at him. Jack's eyes were still closed.

"Jack?" asked Rose, hesitantly.

"A dead man could hear you arguing. I'm fine. Go talk to the Doctor, somewhere else. I want to sleep." Jack yawned, and opened one eye. "Rosie – go."

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Don't go anywhere."

"Nah," said Jack, and his breathing eased as he fell back into slumber. The Doctor extended a hand over the bed to Rose, and she looked at it cautiously before taking it and following him out of the room. He led her through the Tardis and into the garden, finding the spot where they'd had their morning picnic a year before, and Rose ran her free hand along the vines.

"I'm so tired," she sighed. "I could have fallen asleep next to Jack."

"It's been a long day."

"A _day_? Too much has happened for it to be just one day."

"Well, it's been a _very_ long day," said the Doctor. "One of those that goes for longer than 24 hours, but you haven't slept so I'm counting it as one. Although the sun was about to set when we found the crossroads, so I suppose this is the end of it. Appropriate."

Rose stilled for a minute, and then let go of his hand, sitting on the grass. "Appropriate – of course."

The Doctor sat next to her and reached for her hand again. "Rose?"

"I don't want to go back to the 21st century, if you don't mind. I know it's my time, but that's not really my world anymore, and you said I'm legally dead anyway. New Earth would be nice, I think. I like apple grass."

"Rose, I'm not taking you anywhere."

She snorted. "Yet, I suppose. Tell me, Doctor, did you let Susan go, or did you kick her out of the Tardis with no warning?" He didn't answer, and she shrugged. "Doesn't matter. New Earth, please."

"Are you asking to leave me?"

"Are you giving me a choice?" she replied, almost mocking, and her eyes glistened.

"You said you'd made your choice already."

"You always want me to remake it," said Rose. "Sometimes I wonder if you aren't trying to tell me something." Her breath caught. "You – you are, aren't you? You've been telling me something all day. First Carissa, then your son, then Susan."

"I have to finish telling you now."

"_More_? Who else have you left behind, Doctor?" He reached out to touch her cheek, but she batted the hand away. "Answer the question."

"You, Rose," he said. "I left you behind. And it was the worst mistake of my life. Do you know, I think Martha just about tossed herself off the Tardis mid-flight, because the only thing I talked about at first was you. Rose this, and Rose that, and Rose would know, and Rose is clever, and if Rose were here. Hurt her without meaning to, I did, right old fool me. I wrap you up in cotton wool, Rose, because I can't stand the thought that someday, there will be a world without a Rose. There was one once, and it kept on ticking, and it was such an affront to nature that I almost didn't care if I destroyed two worlds to get you back. I nearly did. I collapsed part of Pete's world and I – I changed you, Rose. You aren't human anymore. You're still Rose, but—" He stopped suddenly, trying to think of the words.

"What?" asked Rose, watching him.

"What you shouted at me, back at the crossroads," he said. "You said, I never ask what you want. So I'm asking. Rose, what do you want?"

"It's not that easy."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't," retorted Rose forcefully. "Do you think I could just tell you, easy as that? What if what I tell you scares you, makes you drop me off on the nearest planet? And really, under everything else, I just want to stay with you. Even if – but it doesn't matter, does it? Because you keep pushing me away."

"Under what else?"

"No," said Rose. "Do you want to me to leave the Tardis, Doctor?"

"_No_."

"Then I'm staying." She pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. "Fine, settled. I'm staying, and when Jack's better, we'll take him home, and then Will Shakespeare, like you promised. Or maybe bed."

"Bed?"

Rose turned pink. "Ah – I mean sleep. Long day."

His mouth quirked. "Freudian slip?"

"_Oh_, you!" groaned Rose, holding her head in her hands. "You honestly think there's more that I want from you? There's _nothing_. All you are to me is a cheap way of getting to see the universe. Don't even need a passport, which is good, because I'd never get one, being dead and all. Don't look into this relationship for any more, because I'm telling you, it's _not there_."

"I don't believe you."

"It's true."

"In fact, Rose Tyler, I so don't believe you that I'm going to finish the conversation we've unsuccessfully had twice today already."

"Fine," said Rose. "Talk."

But for a moment, he couldn't think of where to begin. He studied her instead, eyes blazing with anger, cheeks still pink from her earlier slip, mouth set in a very firm grimace. Her hair was a bit mussed from the exertion before, but she looked perfectly beautiful to him.

"Some conversation," she said. "I'm going back to the med bay."

The Doctor grabbed her arm as she began to stand, and pulled her back down. "Right, the med bay. That's where I'll begin. Rose, I finished the tests on our blood. Six months ago, I finished."

"You said that already."

"Yes, but I needed to tell you about Carissa and my son and Susan before I could tell you what the tests said. I needed you to know everything before you could understand what it meant."

"All right, I know everything," she said, still cross. "What's the meaning of it, Doctor? Why'd you stop kissing me? Why do you keep pushing me away? Why do you insist on keeping me here when it's obviously the last place you want me to be?"

"It's a bit complicated—"

"Really."

"When I ran tests on my DNA, and compared them to the old samples, I found they hadn't changed very much. I still have the secondary helix, I still have all the markers and protections of a Time Lord. But there were a few minor tweaks, and when I examined your new DNA, I found similar tweaks, only disproportionately more so."

"That's the physiology," said Rose.

"Yes, but more than that. Rose – you and I – we're new."

She didn't say anything, and he tried again.

"We're – we're together."

She lowered her head just a bit, and then met his eyes. He could see she was still waiting.

"Do you know what I'm trying to tell you?"

"No," she replied. "Do you?"

"There's no one else I want on the Tardis with me, Rose, which is a very good thing, because I think you're the only one in the universe who can be here with me," he said in a rush. "The DNA – we're a match, Rose. Not a perfect match, we're not the same person obviously, but we match in a way we didn't match, in a way you'll never match with anyone else. You're more similar to me than you are to Jack, or Mickey, or any other living being out there. The nanogenes, the blue custard, it made us so that we're together, Rose. Good, bad, want it or not. All of it."

"All of what?" asked Rose, suddenly wary.

"All of – everything. All of a life."

"Define 'all'."

He lifted his hand, and stopped midway, but Rose didn't budge. He took a breath and touched her cheek. Almost instantly, her silvery-turquoise presence reached to him and overlapped the edges of his purple, just a bit, cautiously, carefully.

It wasn't much, but it would do for a start. He took the image he'd had from her, just that once, of Molly in her bassinet, with the two of them gazing down at her from either side, and set that squarely in the middle of their link, never taking his eyes from Rose's face. Her eyes went wide a little, recognizing the image from the one she'd mistakenly sent to him, and he felt her try to retreat.

"No, Rose," he whispered. "Deeper." So he took the edge of her very self, and pulled her further into him. And he showed her more. He showed her the moment in the medical bay when he'd seen the markings in their DNA, when he realized it meant there was a _future_ for them both. What it meant for him to _have_ a future, how he'd never really thought of life past the next few minutes, and suddenly it stretched out before him. He showed her what that future might be, a long winding path hand in hand, with others coming and going to join them and leave them, but always _them_, not her or him. He showed her years, stretching down the road, running for their lives or just sitting and watching the clouds, and in the background, there was young laughter. He felt Rose turn toward the laughter, and so he strengthened that image, showed her the boy and the girl chasing each other in the apple grass. He wasn't sure she quite understood, so he showed her the two children growing younger and younger, into toddlers, then infants in arms, then her softly rounded belly, his hands over hers. The image went back further, without warning, and the Doctor realized that Rose controlled the image now, was showing her stomach growing smaller, their hands still touching, but palm to palm, and he was standing in the space where her unborn children had been, nothing between them, just them, the very beginning.

"Doctor," whispered Rose, almost wanting, almost crying, and he cupped her face with both hands, feeling the wet tears on her cheeks.

"Every time I kiss you, Rose, it's a reminder that I'm going to lose you someday. Everything I've ever loved has been taken from me. Carissa, Susan, Gallifrey – all of it. You. Kisses are supposed to be promises, Rose, but how can I make a promise I can't keep?"

"I told you," whispered Rose fiercely, "I'm not going _anywhere_, I'm staying with you forever."

"Forever isn't something you can promise, Rose. It's too expansive, too fluid. Forever is hard to pin down. It can be taken away, you know that now. I can't promise you forever, Rose. It's not in my power to give."

She set her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him close to her, intending to kiss him, but he resisted. All she was able to do was brush her lips against his, and she groaned impatiently.

"Rose..."

"You bloody stupid – _man_! What was it you showed me, if not forever?"

"A future – it was a _future_."

"It's the same thing!"

"I don't have a future, Rose! I have a now and I have a past. When I see my future coming, I grab your hand and run. Except that someday, the future will come knocking and I won't have your hand to hold."

"You're scared."

"Yes."

Her eyes focused on him; her hands rested on either side of his face. She held his gaze, almost stern. The warmth of her palms dug into his skin, pushing into his head, twisting and turning around his thoughts until he was so dizzy with heat he could barely hear her question. "Why?"

"I love you."

She hadn't quite expected it; her hands pulled away from him, but the warmth remained. Rose whispered something, so softly he couldn't hear it. It looked like she said yes, and his hearts beat a little faster. But surely, she couldn't have said it – surely, it was his imagination. He kept talking.

"You said once, you made your choice," he said to her, his voice low. "But you didn't know everything then. You didn't know what happens to people I love. It would take a thousand conversations to tell you everything I've done in my life, Rose – and even then, I'd never be done. To tell you all of the cruel things I've done to people I was supposed to love."

"But you didn't mean it," whispered Rose, reaching for his face again. He caught her hand.

"But I did," he said gently. "Oh, I meant it then, Rose. I thought it was the right thing to do, keeping my son in the Houses. Leaving Carissa behind. I walked the path laid out for me, because I thought it was right. I didn't waver, not until the House rejected Susan, because I couldn't bear to see her hurt."

"A good man."

"No."

"You _are_."

"_No_," he insisted. "If I were good, I would have found a way to save them in the Time War. I would have kept Aldric alive. I would have left Sarah Jane in the right place. I wouldn't have lost you."

She leaned in and kissed him, her tongue tasting of mint and salt and peach. His hand wrapped around to hold her head as he hungrily gave in to the kiss. Their thoughts were still overlapping, their dream-selves still writhing next to each other. The Doctor had no wish, suddenly, to stop them. He was sharing her thoughts, but he still had no idea what Rose was thinking. He had no idea if this was the closest they'd ever come—

"Shut up, just shut up," said Rose, her lips moments away from his. "Stop thinking, stop _talking_, stop trying to reason it out. There isn't anything to reason. I love you."

"Yeah, _me_. But I'm not me always, Rose. What happens if I regenerate into that man whose son was killed in front of him, and only _watched_? I could be him. I could so easily be him. I'll only have you for a little while, Rose – someday, no matter what, you're going to die, and I've lived without you before. I know what it will do to me."

Her breath caught in a sob. "So why do you keep trying to send me away? Do you think it will hurt less if you do it yourself?"

His eyes were wide, and his breath hitched. "The longer you're with me now, the harder it will be when you aren't. The harder _I_ will be." Her breath came in snatches now, her eyes downcast. He lifted her chin to see the tears. He thought, briefly, that her labored breathing matched that of the dream-Rose, still in the back of their shared thoughts, naked and lovely and arms akimbo beneath the dream-Doctor.

Thinking it brought the image to the front of her mind as well; the Doctor could see Rose's eyes widen. Rose and dream-Rose caught their collective breath as Doctor and dream-Doctor paused.

"Rose."

She began to tremble, her hands resting lightly on him.

"I could regenerate in your lifetime; I could be that man again. It's still there, in me, somewhere."

"No," whispered Rose, shaking her head. "It's not you, not anymore."

"It _is_," he insisted. "Rose, I can't control everything. I can't stop him from coming out. I want this, with you, I want _all_ of this. But if it isn't what you want, if you can't accept the possibility that I might change – leave with Jack, because I can't have you near me and know that this won't ever happen."

Rose took the edge of his purple, and _pulled_, and the dream-Rose and dream-Doctor screamed out their release and explosion, and the Doctor felt his thoughts tumble headfirst into Rose's head, and he saw flashes of images so ephemeral and filmy that he immediately recognized them not as fact, but as hope. He and Rose at Christmas dinner, laughing over the crackers. He and Rose promising forever as the pterodactyls flew overhead. He and Rose in the Tardis, swinging round and round after Krop Tor.

Real memories – but with one small difference. In each one, it was _he_ and _Rose_, closer than they'd been in reality. Each time, the memory ended in a kiss. And each memory was paired with a dream, of the kiss growing deeper, and going on, into a fuzzy, filmy afterwards, a long and winding path similar to the one he'd shown her, with the two of them together, and childish laughter somewhere behind.

"Not as good as yours, I'm afraid," said Rose softly. "I'm only new."

He grinned at her, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. "Lots of time to practice."

"You'll show me, yeah?"

He leaned towards her. "Rose," he said, "what I _won't_ show you." He cradled her head as he pressed his lips to hers, and they fell to the apple grass as their dream selves faded into blissful memory and hope.


	11. Epilogue: Wanting Forever

**Disclaimer:** _Not mine. It's very sad, I agree. If it looks familiar, it's because it's also on LJ and Teaspoon._  
**Chapter Summary: **_Rose and the Doctor think they're alone – but Jack is in the medical bay, and the blue custard took its chance._

* * *

**Epilogue: Wanting Forever**

"I don't trust this," said Rose, eyes half closed, head resting on the Doctor's arm. She lay facing him on the apple grass, her fingers loosely gripping his coat lapel; he stroked her hair, which also allowed him to pull her closer in if necessary. It was a thousand hours since they'd last spoken, or felt like it, and the Doctor had no wish to check on how long it'd been. His arm wasn't numb yet, and Rose hadn't declared herself hungry, so he was content to stay exactly as they were.

"Trust what? The garden? The Tardis?"

"The future," she said. "How do I know you won't send me away again, if you think it's what's best? It's what you do."

"Is not."

"Well, maybe not _send_ people away, but you make decisions for them without asking. All your stories, they always end with 'I never saw her again'."

"That's how all stories end, really."

"What about 'happily ever after'?"

"Where's the fun in that? If you were happy all the time, how would you know you were happy?"

Rose smiled. "What happens now?"

"Oh, now. Now we lay here for a bit, at least until your stomach growls, as it tends to do at inopportune moments, or the Tardis informs us that Jack is awake, which I'm sure will also occur at an inopportune moment. I think we may want to keep Jack near for a few days, check his vitals, make sure we washed the blue custard off in time, but really, I'm not too worried about him. Then I was thinking we've not had nearly enough adventure recently, and we ought to stock up, so perhaps Fespa?"

"You promised me Will Shakespeare."

"So I did. Shakespeare it is, then. Any particular play, or pilot's choice?"

"Oh, pilot's choice. I'm curious which you'd want to see."

"Which do you think?"

"Tempest or Hamlet. Tempest because it was his only original play, and therefore interesting, or Hamlet, because I think you like the idea that there's someone less decisive than you."

"Oi, I'm very decisive."

"Of course you are."

"You were only just now complaining that I make too _many_ decisions."

She kissed his nose. "If you stop talking, I can hear the vines move."

He stopped talking. For fifteen seconds.

"Rose?"

"World record silence there."

"How long are you going to stay with me?"

She smiled again, closing her eyes and burrowing her head into the softness between his arm and chest.

"Forever."

LINE

Jack smiled in his sleep.

_Forever_.

It was good, he thought, if he couldn't have Rose – and he'd always known he couldn't have Rose, from the moment he'd met the Doctor, he knew, even if they didn't – then it was good that the Doctor did have her. Rose was too good to waste on anyone who wasn't either of them.

He was sure the conversation had been part of his dream, just below the surface of waking. A little play before his mind. He couldn't move the characters, not really, he'd just sat and enjoyed them, not really watching, just listening. It was sweet, really, the way they moved from gentle ribbing to sweet words and back again.

And he had no doubt that when he _did_ wake up fully the Tardis would let them know, and they'd spring up from their repose in the garden to check on him. He almost understood Rose's aversion to the medical bay now, so he let himself slip a little deeper into sleep. It meant he no longer had Rose and the Doctor's (imagined?) conversation in his mind, but at least it let them rest a little longer. He didn't want to disturb them so soon.

_Forever_.

The word hadn't frightened him at first, the first time he hadn't died. He thought forever would be useful. And it was – it gave him the courage to leap into the unknown, save Mickey's life, save Rose for the Doctor, save the Doctor from himself. If forever meant that his friends would survive, then it was most likely worth it. Some days, Jack wasn't sure. Forever stretched into infinity too easily, and someday, even the Doctor would die. Jack didn't like the idea of seeing the Doctor die. Rose had seen it, once. She still bore the scars of it, living in fear of the next regeneration.

He slept.

* * *

The movement woke him, but not entirely. He could hear soft giggles and shushes from the far end of the room, which was dark, save for a light near his head. He wasn't quite awake, just on the edges of it, so he kept silent rather than make them feel as though they'd woken him.

"We'll wake him."

"He's fast asleep, he won't wake for hours. I only need to find the cellular disrupter, fell out of my pocket somewhere."

"Are you sure he won't wake up?"

"You were out for four days running."

"But I didn't have me to wash the custard off."

"Well, perhaps I slept a little too then."

"You never sleep!"

"I do, just not much. And I slept then. He won't wake until tomorrow, at least."

"He'll be starving."

"Then we'll feed him. Plenty of prawn mayo for all."

"Oi, leave my prawn mayo out of it."

"He's not laying hands on my coronation chicken."

"Better not, your coronation chicken's _mine_."

"The cheek on her!"

Rose giggled softly, and they fell silent. Jack breathed, listening for the next bit, knowing it was coming.

"Rose – Jack's sleeping."

"I know," she whispered. "We should let him sleep."

_No_, thought Jack, not wanting them to go. He didn't want them to slip from his mind again. The warmth in their voices was too comforting.

"Rose – what do you want?"

Rose didn't answer right away – Jack would have liked to see her face then, but he knew if he opened his eyes, he'd wake.

"I showed you, earlier. In the garden."

"That's pictures."

"Worth a thousand words, they say."

"I only want three. No, five. No, wait – eleven. Yes, eleven."

"Eleven?"

"No more, no less. Eleven words from your lips."

"All right, let me think. Eleven words. So if I say I love you, that's three."

"But they don't answer the question, really, do they? I asked what you _want_, not who you love."

"It's all part of it. All right. I want – that's two words. I want you to stop giving away my prawn mayo sandwiches. I want Jack to wake up and be better. I want to meet Will Shakespeare. I want Molly and Donald to grow up and be happy and healthy and well, and I want Mum to never regret me leaving."

"She won't. And they will. And that's far more than eleven words."

"Shh, I'm trying to decide which is most important."

"Ah, right, carry on."

"I really do want you to stop giving away my prawn mayos."

"I don't think Jack would eat them."

There was a pause. Jack strained to hear them, worried they might have left the room. He didn't know what a prawn mayo was, but it didn't sound good, and he was almost tempted to tell Rose that she could have every prawn mayo in the world, if she would just answer the Doctor's question finally.

"I want to be sure you won't try to send me away, or leave me somewhere," said Rose finally. "Not a request from you. Just – you say you won't, but you've got a track record. I want – no, I _need_ to be sure of it."

"Rose—"

"It's rather more than eleven words."

Jack concentrated on breathing, on staying just under the surface. It was infinitely hard – he desperately wanted to see them.

"I don't know how to make you sure."

Jack knew, but to tell him would have been to wake up. Kissing her wasn't enough. _Loving_ her was. If the Doctor was promising her a forever – well, there was usually only one sort of forever a girl wanted, and most of the time, it was with the clothes _off_.

Jack heard the Doctor exhale loudly.

"Oh."

"Doctor?"

"Hush," he said, but he sounded surprised. "Just – stay right here."

Jack heard the Doctor come closer to the bed, and he stilled his breath, ready to slip back into slumber if necessary. The footsteps stopped near his head, and he could feel the Doctor lean over the bed for a moment, feeling his pulse, testing his temperature with the back of a hand.

"Jack," the Doctor whispered. "You have a filthy mind. I don't know how you did that, and we'll have to talk when you wake up, but thank you."

_You're welcome_, thought Jack before he could stop. _Time Lord moron_.

"Oi," replied the Doctor, not upset at all. "Don't wake up anytime soon, please."

The hand moved away, as did the Doctor, and for a moment, Jack wasn't sure if he was awake or nearly so. He was sure he hadn't spoken – but the Doctor had heard him. No, more than that – the Doctor had known exactly what Jack was thinking he ought to do, to show Rose what he meant.

The door to the medical bay closed, and the room fell silent again, two sets of footsteps fading into the Tardis until they no longer echoed in the still darkness.

Jack felt himself floating, just below the surface of waking, eyes resting closed, the medical bay humming around him. His muscles were still, his heart was steady. He still felt the calm wash over him, the warm comfort of the Doctor and Rose surrounding him, like wool blankets encasing him in a cocoon.

_Rose..._

_Yes?_

_Do you want to know it?_

_Know…?_

_My name._

There was no answer, not immediately, and despite himself, Jack strained to stay with them. There was only the whisper of Rose's smile, the brush of the Doctor's cheek against hers as he brought his lips to her ear, the wind in his breath as he spoke the word not even Jack could hear.

They slipped from him then, as if a gauze curtain had been lowered. Dimly, he could hear their laughter, the soft chuckles and kisses. He could hear the low moan in the base of Rose's throat as the Doctor kissed her there, the rustle and drop of fabric as she pushed the coat off his shoulders, fumbled with buttons and zips and ties. The Doctor was pushing her back – back – and her knees hit the bed, she tumbled backwards into it, pulling him down by his tie, and he joined her there.

Jack almost startled himself awake before he realized they weren't in the medical bay any longer, and he slid down deeper, away from wakefulness, into the darkness of his own mind. Above, Rose and the Doctor still moved and breathed, but partially out of fear, and partially out of respect for them both, he didn't watch or listen. He left them to themselves, and tried to understand why, despite the odd understanding, he felt so suddenly alone.

He fell asleep.

_The Doctor and Rose will return_

_In Part Three of the Crossroads series:_

**Choices and Chances**


End file.
